Wild: Savage Daughter

So last night my mom texted me. Said she was hurt by the things I'd told her had been said--for I keep no secrets for my mother. I have, but I no longer will, and have acted to live on the grounds of that promise.
Basically my family, on my mother's side, thinks we're all heathens. Blahblahblah, too many children, blahblahblah, naked in the woods, blahblah. Gossip gossip. Well she was upset. She's like, "They won't even come to the wedding will they? Payton, they hate me..."

And I thought and thought and thought about it. She kept going and going. More and more upset. And then I replied, "I am my mother's savage daughter. The ones who run barefoot, cursing sharp stones. I am my mother's savage daughter--I will not cut my hair. I will not lower my voice."

Went on a rant about how--if my mother and I were Savages--I was proud that we were savages. She should be proud because I am, and it's much harder for me with Wendy telling me that my hair's too long (no seriously, we did have that conversation) or that I'm too loud (also: seriously had this conversation); and I am very Proud to be who I am.

She called me today--she feels much better, blahblah. I said exactly the right thing, and she is proud--proud of me.

Today she posted the whole lyrics to the song on her Facebook, tagged Taylor and I (poor Taylor probably has no idea what's going on).

I just heard my aunt in the other room. She got a  call from Juliette, who thought that Craig and her had a fight or something (?). Wendy called first my Grandma, then Jojo, both of whom confessed they had no idea what it meant or where it came from. My smile grew with every new call. After the fourth one, I walked in to her bedroom, smiled and said, "No? Don't know it? It's a song."

"A song?" repeated Wendy, confused. "Why would she do a stupid thing like that?"

And I looked her dead in the eye and said, "It must be a heathen thing." And then I pulled my hairtie--it ripped--and let down my hair. My beautiful, not-one-colored mane of sun.

She cleared her throat and continued with her phone conversation, eying me nervously as I carried my basket of laundry to the laundry room, singing---I am my Mother's savage daughter, the one who runs barefoot, cursing sharp stones.....





I feel like I can fly.