Wander Woman

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the individualistic freedom poured hunger into my eyes.

the realm of possibility revealed in me the free-spirited heroine who once lived in the shadow of isolation. so I played by my own rules. and the endlessly mad but passionate lifestyle chewed up and spit out the mid-September girl. I later found myself while stuck on the roller-coaster thrills of ecstacies and serenities; and there, a new muse rooted in the pit of my stomach.

out came the damsel that numbed her distress. the one that would brook no attachment to the morning after. and she never had to admit to her past existence. she is the warrior of my hardest battles but the poison that slowly kills me.

in retrospect, I never had to commit to my existence. neither did the fallen angels who took me by the hand and challenged an impossible question of our destinies flirting with each other. sometimes the safety of our existence relies in moments like these; where you refuse to trust there’s an upcoming breath to take but believe the person next to you is there for a reason, their presence is the exact thing that keeps you alive. and maybe it’s in the certainty of leaving that drives us to appreciate others more than we could put value to our lives.

my prolonged connection to this place and its people gave me a sense of belonging.

an easy fate of returning home when all else fails. when all I can do is recoil from the power of my own destructions and seek nourishment to last the year. To say I’m a soldier would also mean I play the enemy because the war’s against myself and I wake up every morning wondering if it’s the day I’ll surrender, yet.

eventually, the consequences of that individuality and acceptance led to the transient understanding of who I am; I was remarkably comfortable with the fact that my personality beamed without stressing over external judgement. I finally understood and believed in the inner beauty and strength that my people saw within me.

this ephemeral feeling put the world into my hands. I grabbed it by the tail and I spun around and around.

and around and around and around…

it’s not that I’m on an endless search for my own comfort or a new sense of “home” to experience, but that I am always curious as to where I can find those moments of pure acceptance. what is it that I do with my life that brings a feeling of complete control?

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