Solace

I crave retreat.  Water hush and bones and branches.  Red dirt and nothingness.  The quiet stun of the star sky.  I need to be away from this woman-hating world.  A place where sexual and family violence is becoming more of a topic and an issue and a slogan, and yet my heart sighs at the enormity of tackling the embedded hatred towards women and girls: sex trafficking and rape and shame and all of the cultural variations of victim blaming, woman blaming, judgement, body hatred, body harming, assault, leering, comments, looks, the looks I get walking, or sitting having a burger and existing in my body.

A cave and a spring.  Female baptism.  The backing track of leaves only, and the wind.  Washing out the micro aggressions.  A break from the pressure to somehow find a way to respond to hateful comments, the words, the slut and ho and fat and ugly.

Sometimes I can be creative in my response.  Sometimes I just move me and my goddamn shopping trolley to another side of the burger place so these fucking idiot men won’t stare at me.  Sometimes I share feminist articles on Facebook.

But, I crave the creek and the gum and the place where my body can be on it’s own.  Where I can look at my baby daughter and be free of those flashes of abusive futures.

Current and river bed and sleep.  To be cherished, and sleep.

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