My dreams give me hope that somewhere inside me, buried deep under layers of conscious thought and control, there exists a creature made up purely of desire, joy and rage—a creature driven completely by emotion and impulse, not by the reins of the waking world.
She is not too afraid, too tired or too busy to give herself completely over to her sexuality and sensuality. She is not afraid to look in the mirror simply to admire and not to calculate or judge. She is not afraid to love and show it, or hate and show it. She doesn’t let potential consequences keep her from being angry. She feels. She gives herself to feeling.
She is my heart, hidden deep inside my chest, and at times she beats her wings so strongly against the bars surrounding her that she cannot be ignored, sedated or controlled.
She is my light, and if you look out of the corner of your eye when the night is dark and the moon is swollen full above, you will see her shining through.