Hunger not to have, but to be

It makes utter sense to stay healthy and strong, to be as nourishing to the body as possible. Yet I would have to agree, there is in many women a 'hungry' one inside. But rather than hungry to be a certain size, shape, or height, rather than hungry to fit the stereotype; women are hungry for basic regard from the culture surrounding them. The 'hungry' one inside is longing to be treated respectfully, to be accepted and in the very least, to be met without stereotyping.

the sadness of a lost childhood feels like yearning, impossible desire. It feels like a hollow, insatiable hunger.

Our hunger to belong is the longing to find a bridge across the distance from isolation to intimacy. Every one longs for intimacy and dreams of a nest of belonging in which one is embraced, seen, and loved. Something within each of us cries out for belonging. We can have all the world has to offer in terms of status, achievement, and possessions. Yet without a sense of belonging it all seems empty and pointless.

If you are greedy, what is inside you is what makes you always hungry.

I am hungry for more. I am not satisfied but I am fulfilled.

I believed then that love had to feel like hunger to be true.

I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it — to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once.

The story of my life is wanting, hungering, for what I cannot have or, perhaps, wanting what I dare not allow myself to have.

Mother, I am ravenous. Mother it is not what they said, they did not tell us the truth, they did not even say that it would look like the underbelly of a skinned mammal. That it would be like the inside of a lip. It is the scrape of his teeth on the soft of my arm and how I moaned for days. It is greedy and hungry. I am always hungry. I am always a stomach full of teeth and need. Need, god, I need. Once in the morning and once in the afternoon, sometimes in between. Sometimes I am not a girl, but a slice of desire. Mother, if desperation were human, she would wear my eyes. She would hold my hands. She would take me by the neck and fill me until I was boneless. Later she would write in her diary, today I destroyed a girl and it tasted like wine.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Entirety exists within me as exuberance … in empty longing … in … the desire to burn with desire.

Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills.
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up.
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold.
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love.

Perhaps your hunger to belong is always active and intense because you belonged so totally before you came here. This hunger to belong is the echo and reverberation of your invisible heritage. You are from somewhere else, where you were known, embraced and sheltered. This is also the secret root from which all longing grows. Something in you knows, perhaps remembers, that eternal belonging liberates longing into its surest and most potent creativity. This is why your longing is often wiser than your conventional sense of appropriateness, safety and truth... Your longing desires to take you towards the absolute realization of all the possibilities that sleep in the clay of your heart; it knows your eternal potential, and it will not rest until it is awakened.