To be seen

To be born is to be seen. 

To be human, what does that mean? 

My mother, my father, my neighbors, and friends. 

What will they think? 

And if I could fly away by myself?

Away, 

Away, 

Away with my love, my happiness, my anger, my tenderness,

My hungry fever, my antipathy, and my idolatry. 

Where my ancestors dressed in animal skins, and danced around a fire, 

Descending to a state less like a human, more like a beast.

Like the wolf, who howls, whether heard or not. 

Or the horse that runs free, smelling the fresh breeze.

The cat that licks herself with ease, alone or watched, still at peace. 

The snake who crawls the earth, climbs trees, changes her skin, 

Without a care to be seen.