A Wild Woman is not a girlfriend…..I love this poem. It really resonated as I had a tremendous pre-menopausal meltdown at the weekend. Luckily I bounce back quickly as I have taught myself to stay out of the ridiculous stories in my head at those times of uncontrollable wildness – and I have an amazing partner. I am a lucky one. I didn’t realise it was going to be so tough, this change! Most people don’t appreciate a woman’s journeys, especially these kinds. I am soooooo glad I managed to squeeze max out before this began, lol.

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A wild Woman is Not a Girlfriend

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A Wild Woman is not a girlfriend

But can you love me in the deep?
In the dark?
In the thick of it?
Can you love me when I drink from the wrong bottle
and slip through the crack in the floorboard?
Can you love me when I’m bigger than you,
when my presence blazes like the sun does,
when it hurts to look directly at me?
Can you love me then too?

Can you love me under the starry sky,
shaved and smooth, my skin like liquid moonlight?
Can you love me when I am howling and furry,
standing on my haunches,
my lower lip stained with the blood of my last kill?
When I call down the lightning,
when the sidewalks are singed by the soles of my feet,
can you still love me then?

What happens when I freeze the land,
and cause the dirt to harden
over all the pomegranate seeds we’ve planted?
Will you trust that Spring will return?
Will you still believe me when I tell you
I will become a raging river,
and spill myself upon your dreams
and call them to the surface of your life?
Can you trust me,
even though you cannot tame me?
Can you love me,
even though I am all that you fear and admire?
Will you fear my shifting shape?

Does it frighten you,
when my eyes flash like your camera does?
Do you fear they will capture your soul?
Are you afraid to step into me?
The meat-eating plants
and flowers armed with poisonous darts
are not in my jungle to stop you from coming.
Not you.
So do not worry.
They belong to me,
and I have invited you here.

Stay to the path revealed in the moonlight
and arrive safely to the hut of Baba Yaga:
the wild old wise one…
she will not lead you astray if you are pure of heart.

You cannot be with the wild one
if you fear the rumbling of the ground,
the roar of a cascading river,
the startling clap of thunder in the sky.
If you want to be safe,
go back to your tiny room —
the night sky is not for you.
If you want to be torn apart, come in.
Be broken open and devoured.
Be set ablaze in my fire.
I will not leave you as you have come:
well dressed,
in finely-threaded sweaters that keep out the cold.
I will leave you naked and biting.
Leave you clawing at the sheets.
Leave you surrounded by owls and hawks
and flowers that only bloom when no one is watching.

So, come to me,
and be healed in the unbearable lightness
and darkness of all that you are.
There is nothing in you that can scare me.
Nothing in you I will not use to make you great.

A wild woman is not a girlfriend.
She is a relationship with nature.
She is the source of all your primal desires,
and she is the wild whipping wind
that uproots the poisonous corn stalks
on your neatly tilled farm.
She will plant pear trees in the wake of your disaster.
She will see to it that you shall rise again.
She is the lover who restores you to your own wild nature.

by Allison Nappi

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