Foreword
When I am craving clarity about the nuanced dimensions of my inner life, I do one of two things: a. phone a soul sister (one adept at asking good questions and generous enough to listen well as I speak into what is going on) or b. I write (often in threads, incomplete sentences, something resembling poetry)
The latter, the practice of writing into understanding, has been with me the longest. For as long as I can remember, I have carried journal with me. Journals are the most patient of confidantes and the best keepers of secrets & dreams.
In the late Summer, as I was readying the new
“In the Flesh” Series – our year long exploration here at The Wild Woman Project – I wrote a lot. And this poem came through as I was contemplating how women have been treated as though they are objects, treated as though their bodies belong to the world. As a survivor of childhood sexual assault, there has been and is – so much to explore here. As I wrote, the poem became both a reclamation of my own body & a celebration of the world’s largest untapped resource: Women.
I know I am not alone in feeling the transformative power that these past couple of weeks have coaxed out of our collective consciousness – with the rise of the #metoo movement. Something very real is happening through the sharing and witnessing of these stories. The truth is being unveiled, women are rising – together, and people are feeling a lot.
This is not the beginning of this process, and it is nowhere near the end. I am full of hope for what is possible and faith in the alchemical process that is taking place collectively.
So, on this Friday, Waxing Quarter Moon, I offer you this poem, from my heart to yours, my body to yours:
We Live Here
I was born here
right here
in this skin.
These nerves
this blood
this heart right here
has been beating
feeling
moving
from the inside
since the beginning
of me.
Since I lived
in the body
of my mother.
At some point
way back when
up until 15 minutes ago
you told me
I was too much
and not enough
of this or that.
And that you better
show me how to be
how to feel
how to live
and how to think
Since I was a little girl,
with Spirit to spare,
a ponytail
and long golden brown legs,
you told me,
I was
irresistibly sexy and undeniably sinful –
a whore, a slut, easy, asking for it.
You told me
I was to be ashamed
of myself.
You told me
I was
Too emotional, too sensitive,
crazy, bitchy, naggy.
You taught me
one violation at a time
that My body
was something that could be spoken about freely by anyone,
anywhere,
without consequence.
You taught me
one demeaning experience after another,
that my body could be touched in whatever way pleased you,
And I better shut up and take it.
You taught me
one abuse at a time
that my body was yours to beat down –
with your belt,
with your words,
With your legislation.
And after all that
you told me
I was
too
angry.
It is no secret
you’ve violated,
raped,
disrespected,
objectified,
and profited off of
the body of the earth
in the
Very
Same
Way
you tried to rip apart,
use,
And commodify
the body of me.
Enough.
This is the sound of the door closing.
This is my house
I live here
My flesh
My feelings
My choices
My blood
My magic.
I live here.
And everyday
As you stand outside
Shouting your obscenities
Disguised as beauty advice
I get stronger by moving
All the way
back
in.
This is my house
I live here.
And every hour
as you bang on the walls
with your theories of “too much”
my cells begin to reverberate
with the mystery living in me.
Because you see:
This is my house
And I live here.
You may stand outside
Peddling your poison.
Meanwhile, I will be
Right here
In my skin
In my house
Remembering
What it feels like to live in
These wide hips.
I will be teaching myself
How to trust my gut again
Which jiggles and shakes
with power
you have not yet seen.
I will be deep inside
allowing
the ocean of feelings
Which ebb and flow inside,
Never drowning me,
Always clearing a path.
As your reign of tyranny
Burns to the ground
You will worry
What will we do?
How will this end?
How will we live now?
And just when you think
All hope is lost
The bodies of Women will rise up
From the ash
Whole
Once again
Full
Of the truth of themselves.
And those Women,
Those bodies,
Will lead the way,
Healing the planet
And all its children.
Because this is our world
We live here.
Your Turn
This is an invitation to write your own poem – about your body, your experience with #metoo, whatever would feed you. And feel free to leave it in the comments below. We would love to read what is on your heart.
Deepest Love,
C
Very powerful.
#We live here.
Thank you, Marcia. Yes, we do. xo
Thank you. I needed this. Very settling
You are so welcome. Thank you for reading. xo
Sad, and beautiful. It resonated. It was like a memory, echoed back to me.
mmm…much love, Amy. Thank you for sharing. xo
Thank you, Chris, for blessing us with your words, sharing with the universe, and giving voice to what so many women and girls experience. You are seen and loved.
Thank you , dear Emily. We are in this together. xo
WOW, such a bold, honest and powerful message in your poem. Thank you for having the courage to share.
It hit me hard as I think back to how I was violated and my boundaries were crossed by those that were supposed to protect me when I was an innocent child #metoo
With you, dear Kerri. Seeing you, feeling you. Love, Chris
Your words are so touching, Chris. The way you are able to use your words to connect the ever flowing cycle thoughts with all the feels, in a way that resonates with anyone who reads them is still beyond my comprehension. I am sure I am not alone when I say I feel extremely fortunate to have found you and the Wild Woman Project. Keeping on shining. We live here.
Thank you, my dear friend. Your words mean so much. Love, love, love
Wow thank you so much for the vulnerability to share this. So moving and empowering.
Thank YOU for reading, dear Jennifer.
When the “me too” was going around, I received an email from somebody naming names and saying “shame on you, shame on you, shame on you” and the voice broke out in me the voice that has been a Silent Scream and I said, “no I disagree. I would not want to give them the gift they gave me: the gift of shame. I would want them to be so healed inside themselves that they could not even consider harming anyone ever again, that they would be so loved within themselves that it could not even cross their mind let alone their actions to harm anyone like that. I want to be so healed inside of myself and so loved inside of myself that shame and fear do not limit me. So this is the end of my silent screams; this is the end of my shame and there is no fear to hold me and pull me down any longer because I am so healed, I am so loved that it cannot even cross my mind
Thank you for sharing, Rita. xo
Chris, the synchronicity of your sharing today is an amazing one for me. Last night I sat for an hour crying and writing a poem based on current fear as it relates to childhood abuse. I began crying again as I read your poem. I will be glad to share my poem when I have time to post it here.
However, is there a limit to the amount of space I can post?
We’d love to read your poem, Janis. I do not think there is a limit to the size here in the comments. Please try. much much love xo
This is very powerful and touched something inside that I used to experience when I read Maya Angelou….Some place inside me realizes the control we lost over ourselves over the years….from all types of sources–telling us we aren’t worthy. Keep writing, this is wonderful.
Oh Donna, Ms. Angelou is my greatest shero. Thank you for your words, they mean so much. Love, love.
Love love love!! sharing on Fb dear Chris..thank you
Peace from my House to yours
Thank you, dear Anita. Big love to you. xo
Wow, Chris. Reading that pulled forward feelings I had that were preverbal, and buried so deeply. Thank you. Here’s mine:
It wasn’t safe to grow in you
Or be near you.
My safe place is nowhere.
It isn’t safe to love you
Or to know you.
My safe place is me.
Sacred space
Glowing warmth
Connection, community, respect
My safe place is here.
Oh, Emily. Thank you for sharing this treasure with us.
Big love to you xo
Speaking my Name
I open to the winds of my essence
As I softly murmur my name
My cells awaken with remembrance
As I softly murmur my name
The stirrings of a warrioress
The compassion of a healer
The strong legs of one who stands and speaks
No longer a silent concealer
I rise and speak my name
And know today is different
Connected to an ancient lineage
I am pulsing with awakened current
BEAUTIFUL! thank you for sharing, dear Cara. xo
Thanks Chris,
You are a very inspiring woman. Thank you.
Yes!!!!
Beautiful. Powerful. Inspiring. Empowering. Stirring.
Thank you, Tammy. Much love. xo
See me
Not the name label placed upon my days and nights.
I am so much more than mother, wife, daughter, employee or friend.
See me
I fill the role you ask of me.
Loving you.
Giving until it hurts.
Rejoicing in your victories and carrying you when you fall.
Offering my mind, my heart, my body, my soul.
But Please see me.
Woman
Full, powerful, wise.
See me
Give your ear when I speak.
Listen with your soul not your ego needs.
Understand that I too feel empty at times and need your strength.
See me
Allow me to be free to be me
See me
Love all of me
Look in my eyes and you will see my love for you.
See me
If you look closely you will see the fears of child unheard.
See me
I stand in my essence of woman unbridled.
I sing to the tune of heart.
I dance to the easy joy of my soul.
See me
Join me
Wow! So beautiful! Thank you so much for sharing. <3
I see you, Jill! Thank you so much!
Thank You all for sharing. I think I’ve finally found my tribe.