By Shannon Crossman

Lost girls are
forever finding
themselves.

Seeking behind
hedges, under
beds, over
the tops of trees.

They complain
vociferously of
what’s missing and
bemoan the endless
seeking as if
it is some
painful chore
to discover once
more the continent of
one’s own belonging.

Lost girls
jangle and clash
all akimbo
inside their own
skin. Home
an unfamiliar word
on their tongues that
melts all snowflake-like
and leaves them
thirsty.

Lost girls
know longing as
that perfect
sized slipper sliding
over foot that still
trips them up
inside,
forever wondering
if some essential
instructions were not
passed down to them.

Lost girls are
always finding
themselves
until one day
belonging comes
home to nest
in their heart.

Finally, they know
the vastness of it all.
Find rivers that quench
the deepest thirst.
Discover rule books
are useless when one
is trying to Become.

For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends Women Who Run with the Wolves.

Sip a little more from Shannon’s magic:
Burn It All Down & Rise: The Magic Of An Awakening Woman

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