I’m feeling more feral than female, and beginning to understand why trapped animals gnaw off a leg, why frothing jaws snap. Some days the idea of clawing off my own skin seems just as good as someone else stuck under my nails. What will I do with the raw, the vulnerable? Can I take care to not cut myself on my own edges? What a spectacle I’ve become, walking around bleeding on everyone. Spitting and crazed. It’s laughable, how I once felt so free. That freedom still too refined compared to this now. The wildness, the hardiness, a savage resilience that comes in waves, tucked in the wrappings of sleep deprivation and overload of touch is its own type of Liberty. One that embarrasses in its uncouth behavior, and doesn’t even care. My dignity was stripped un-compassionately. It was ripped quite literally, I was flayed, I was drugged, I was shaking, I was reduced to a body in a bed. A specimen. Something to learn from. So now I find myself, this crazed thing. Stalking about in the wilderness of my mind. Left alone, unbothered. Whelping in the dirt. Feral. Snarling. Free.
