Fearless.
Untamed.

Her hair
falls not in flawless curls
around a porcelain face.

No.
It flows into the hungry wind
a lion's mane.

Her laugh
tinkles not like
so many silver bells.

No.
It crashes and bubbles
an ocean tide.

Her desires
hide not under the glass
of an innocent exterior.

No.
They smolder on the surface of her skin.
Volatile fires
by turn gentle flames
or blazing infernoes.

To be a wild girl
is both a gift and a curse.
To feel everything
from love to hate
at the base of your throat and the
heart of your soul.
To be both feared and wanted
by strong and weak men.
To live one's life
searching for one
whose heart is strong enough
to run alongside someone so free.