My Why Is For Me

My why could be for the women.

For the young girls who grow up in a highly sexualized pixelated world and don’t understand what the hell their desires or bodies mean.

It could be for the belief that creative lives and occupations are possible.

For the pursuit of self-love, self-care.

For the belief that we should always operate out of how we can improve inner lives to improve the quality and healing of the world.
It could be anger towards patriarchal systems
It could be flipping through romantic relationships
and understanding how our old traumas effect
all and everything.

how they wire false negative beliefs
deep into the black soil of our souls
deeper than the seeds
deeper than roots
they are the base
which filters into the roots
we can barely even detect until
our petals begin to wilt.

My why could be one million things
because my heart cares so fiercely about so much

but when the smoke fades
and the ash clears into the wind
my why

is me.

it belongs to my heart, my truth
my essence. It belongs to a promise
I made to myself 50 years ago
when I chose to be born into this world
that I would live in pursuit of complete
alignment with my soul.

That is a struggle that will never ever end
for if it should, it would mean no more trying.
No more of a reason to wake up in the morning
and do. You might think- just be. You don’t have to
try and try to be you, just be.
But there is joy in this and there is rest: Knowing I get to
wake up chase my spirit around all day, and also that
I will never catch my wild spirit and place her in a box,
I am happy in that, too. There is both excitement
and sweetness in the pursuit of me.

My why is to the energy that buzzes up and down my spine
that holds every moment of love and fear
that has ever crossed my path.
It is the compound, the cocktail of all that I am
and I will tend to it, make love to it, knead through
blocks in it all the days of my life.

Because I made a commitment to my soul
and my body long before the mountains
rose to the sky. Love before the trees
grew deep wrinkled skin. Long before
the first woman leaned in to kiss the first man
I know nothing else but the need for the love
of myself.

About the author
I am only a fan girl of this world picking poems out of trees. Follow Henley on Instagram or read more articles from Henley on Thought Catalog.

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