To be naked is to be alive.
Unzip and step out.
Shed that invention of a shield, that expression of suppression of should be’s.
Bold, naked beautiful me.
The soft vulnerability that gets pushed out while pubic hairs push in.
Neon blazing billboards of conformity rush like fiery lava into the eyes of America only to curl up upon our souls like venomous snakes ready to strike at our naked flesh.
The Rolexed man whispers in the young girl’s ear. Boob job, tummy tuck, a little lip for Christmas darling?
Shattered masses marching with tick-tock submissions praying 5 times a day to the Gods on Entertainment Weekly.
15,000,000 cosmetic surgeries a year. A nation living in fear of being seen.
Commandments leap from the Gucci, Versace, Prada pom-poms, pull out perfume creases, be like she, look at me, deny the ancient truth of We.
Touched up postproduction starlets sashay the silver screens spilling out of white limousines. Photographers saying YES! You are the one that our culture will fold around, taking notes, spending lives learning how to forget themselves.
Naked and pure we were sucking milk from the tribal mother. You are still with us. You will never leave us.
What will it take for our people to remember you?
Could it be time to Embody that which is rightfully ours. Time to steal back the naked truths that show up only in whispers on moonlight nights and cricket groves?
Unsheathed, unshoed, raw and primal, pumping vitality into the wilted petals of the soul.
Wake up my brothers and sisters. Return to your naked essence. Your delicate and fertile truth. And we will rise up in tribal remembrance to all that which is divinely ours.