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I'm Victoria Falls.

By on July 11, 2016
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By Wildcherry Jem

This week’s anger opportunity is my ultimate steam creator.
I’m Victoria Falls, with spray rising miles into my air.
I see Me.
My anger is all-consuming at this moment in my times.
I want to sink into the murky green depths of my waters.
Nothing can be seen in the waters of the Zambezi River.
It’s waters are the most exquisite, and glossy, bottle green.
I’d not be seen if I submerged into that haven.
I could hide my sexual shame.
I could swim around with sightless fish, so deeply would I wander.

My pass would be thoroughly opaque, unlit, shadowing through shallows dark with river-weed.

Desperate desperation over mental scenes unseen cause me to mentally gasp for air whilst snorting out clots of soul mud then, I breathe through oxygen-saturated reeds.
Invisible I might be, unseen, free to be me.
My sexual sadness could merge with the ancient bottoms of a river as old as time.
There, my merwoman aqua home would soothe my rage with waters of cooling acceptance.
Sexual frustration and oblivious callousness would meld into a non-entity.

My river goddess ego could dissipate into millions of water droplets as I became one with the playful water heaven of my childhood where sexuality wasn’t even a thing…
I simply was….pure innocence.

Angry furor meets the reality of the river of my now.
Although I want to crash and burn up with internalized and volcanic fury, I open pathways to the waterfall chill that I know is my release.
The effects of his nonchalant waiving of my desire has the potential to damage my waterways.
As much as a I’d be justified in turning off my taps, and blocking my sensual cascade, I am Victoria Falls.
I must flow, regardless.

Feeling is my birthright.

Denying my emotional monologue is no longer an option, it’s either sink or swim and my swim bladder is constantly being inflated anew because I know now that I matter.
Crap dies on my riverbanks – no worries, it gets washed over the edge.
Dream boats capsize and I’m tempted to feel f’ck’d whilst trying to avoid being washed away.
No worries, my river flows on.
My raindrops of tearful relief leave a delicate mist for miles around me because my soul-hydration is the pure water of divine love that I draw upon.
Without this infinite source, my cataracts would be dry.

Rivulets of foamy water roar over my ledges, ignoring every lodged tree trunk of resistance.
Wherever there’s a gap, I fill it and flow through it.
I am healing by dousing my spirit-rage with the cooling effect wrought by millions of gallons of refreshed, spirit-infused water.
I’m a channel of perfected hydration as I open my arms to receive, in spite of my sorrow.

I am more than sexual frustration.
I am a waterfall of moving power.
I don’t quit flowing.
I am Victoria Falls.
I roar for women whose desire is negated, explained away, frikkin’ ignored as inconsequential.
I f..ck.ng matter.
My desire is sacred.
I am worthy.
My sexuality counts.
I will not shut myself down, nor submerge my desire for the satiation of being validated, ever again.
This is my story of my inside job.
I AM F’CK’NG VICTORIA FALLS.
I’M HUGE FOR MYSELF.
I ROAR FOR ME

 

jeanetteWildcherry Jem writes about the joy of being a woman. She encourages women to embrace the sacred discipline of self-care with an emphasis upon pleasurable living.

For thirty years, she has been married to the father of her many children and has been a stay-at-home-mom. She blogs at https://wildcherryjems.wordpress.com/

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