Wild and Free

All day, every day, I have dreamt of her—
This spirit of a woman,
Monstrous and misunderstood.

And where she strikes fear in others, I see her, and she sees me.
Call her by any name—
La Loba or some made-up name like the Agleca.
She sees me, and I see her. 

I feel her power within my bones,
Her wild spirit mirrored in the pools of my soul.
Ignored and suppressed, even by me,
Sometimes she claws to the surface,
Reminding me of the story—
Hers and mine—
That runs parallel and intertwined with each other. 

Then my soul yearns to be wild and free,
To frolic in the lap of good and evil.
But constraints made by man hold us down.
Our freedom—only momentary,
Through these words and sounds.

A haunting it is, then,
To taste freedom and not have it.
A madness it is, to still want to lay down roots,
Sought by both—
The wild and the tamed. 

I embody that constant struggle
In which most women thrive.