where the wild things are

Freedom is unrestrained, untethered, uncertain.

I lift my arms to the wind and empty my lungs with a scream that echoes

Across mountains and down streams, on the backs of dragonflies toward ancient dawns.

I bare my teeth and stomp my feet.

Hunched shoulders and curled lips, I remember that I am wild and that this is my birthright.

I distort my body in sinister shapes to scare away this wretched thing inside me: fear.

It bears its grisly face and retreats to the comforts of conformity, where it belongs.

It is no match for a wild thing like me:

Beautiful and ugly and free.

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