The female body is like a bonsai tree, tended to with precision and pruned to be orderly. The bonsai tree does not grow naturally but with a predetermined direction. There is an ideal size and an archetypal shape it must preserve. Its beauty is not in its wildness, but in its maintenance.
I stare down at my unshaved legs, unpolished nails, uncombed hair, and feel like a sprawling oak. I am untamed and untended to. This oak is raw and unrefined in its beauty. I have exposed roots, and a myriad of seeking branches that hold life.
The sun illuminates the oak’s body, and it grows on its own accord. It chooses where it reaches toward. Unlike the bonsai, nobody cuts or sheaths the oak in their image. This tree has no master.
Call it unkempt or call it pure, it’s free. The woman has learned to be a bonsai, but she was born an oak.
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