July 6, 2012
archived
My wild heart would not lay still or ignore its longing for more than the tar streets of the Bronx. My wild heart’s beat scared me because it promised to give me away, because it did not want to play by anyone else’s rules.
I tried to do as my parents asked but inside I was subversive. I dreamed when I was supposed to be listening. I read books that led my mind down dark alleys and fed me thoughts no one could control. Even while looking normal, my wild heart led me to disobey or get in the last word even when I knew I’d be punished.
My wild heart was filled with passion, railed against injustice, was spontaneous, untamed. Willful was what I was called, willful and abrasive. My wild heart loved parakeets and falcons, black-eyed susans and the magnolia tree in full bloom. It raged when nature was abused. It hated dumb people and teachers who were bullies.
My wild heart didn’t trust authority, my parents or anyone who said they had my best interests in mind but didn’t. It fought whoever tried to control me. It took me down New York City streets where I met danger and had to find a way out——quick. It forced me to say no when I meant it even if the price I paid was heavy. I didn’t play by the rules; I avoided the ones I didn’t believe in.
My wild heart taught me to fight, taught me to be defiant, to use my anger to motivate me. My wild heart searched for years to find a place to come to rest.
My wild heart gave itself only to those it trusted.