She takes a shower every day and cuts her hair five times a year
but secretly she longs to be adventure girl.
Swinging from the trees and bathing like a Victorian monarch
half naked crazed and dreadlocked
living with the birds and sister to the wind.
She doesn’t care much for the colored slips of paper
the machine spits out at her
and she doesn’t understand why people bleed each other in their hurry to obtain.
She buys a second pair of black flats that she secretly
doesn’t want to need
because the only flats that adventure girl wears are the color of skin.
Skin that’s been moisturized with sunlight
not sunblock.
She eats with a fork and spoon but what she longs for
is a good helping of uncivilization, please,
they can keep their colored paper.
She loves her skin that shines like silk and
she doesn’t understand why she is asked to poke it
and scrub it and slash at it so much.
Let me go into the jungle please, she thinks
as they take her further and further into the museums and restaurants and concrete stillness
and ooh and awe over plastic imitations and tamed recklessness.
She wants to see real recklessness.
She longs to eat with her hands and run bare shod in the grass and taste sweat and sea water and golden sunset rays and
never mildly discuss weekend plans or where are you from or how do you like it here or what are your plans for after this
because adventure girl doesn’t plan a lick,
her being sisters to the wind and all,
so why can’t she do the same?

She sits in her plastic blue folding chair that is squished right up next to the sliding glass window
and it’s dark outside and hot but the door is open and the breeze is fresher than in here
as she stares at the three little stars that have fought their way to her eyes,
struggling against the power of the city lights
and smoggy polluted clouds of anguish
she understands them. She is one with them. She, too, is fighting her way to the surface,
Struggling against the might of the skyscraper scraping at her skin making it milky;
she doesn’t want to be milky.

She doesn’t want to be so clean
so civilized.

What she really longs
for is to be
adventure girl.

The reader brings his or her own experience to the poem and creates meaning. Here is my experience.

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