...all anyone needs to know is wild hearts can be broken. the fear, the anxiety, the hate-- it's all the same, isn't it-- the walls that close around the spirits of the people you fall into-- it's all part of this breaking...
"I'm never going to fight for you..." as the feral places of my heart are destroyed-- razed like the last magical places on this earth, driven extinct like the last wild beasts on Gaia...
"What am I supposed to do? Wait for you?..." as the process of evolution falls apart in the preference for a quick, immediate and easily controllable solution... a match to the desire-- not a journey to understanding. The constant limitations imposed; the demands that are placed without care or concern for the other side.
"I want to be happy with you..." translation: You who I will ask to fall to my level so I can work your wild spirit's artifacts into something I can understand.
Like I am a tree you can sculpt, to whittle down into this aesthetic that's easily understood with no context, no acknowledgement of the pillage that is necessary to create your "art."
"You will have nothing and that will be your choice." Why would it be anything but the arrogance, selfishness and complete lack of regard for feral spirit, for feral existence to threaten the wild with alienation, destruction, and ruin? You can stand high and mighty in my yard as a reminder-- an inspiration-- or you can be demolished with the rest for being arrogant enough to dare pursue your own happiness and ferocious participation in this (SHIT) world...
This is my dissolution.
This is where I fall apart.
This is where the pieces of me I've so desperately clung to fall to the ground like the insides of a pinata: scrambled toward by the greedy hands of men who will discard my innards just as quickly as they fight to grab them.
This is where I break...
... my wild heart.
Into the pieces of vacancy that anyone observant enough will whisper to their friend about when my back is turned. When the story is recounted, all will wonder why I would as such a "strong woman" choose such a choice.
But I will wander the world on a leash, chained to the sadness I seek, the depravity I feel I deserve, unintelligibly calling for my Shiva in the manic episodes of clarity I can no longer suppress. Only to be fed the medications of the broken ones-- the fictitious money, pills, and luxury of struggling no longer.
Because the wouldn't wait to tear my home down.
Because the respected themselves enough to demand my conformity.
Because this is life-- it is pathetic and designed to rip apart what refuses to conform-- to adhere to the decor that is destruction and hate.
Because I am simply a curiosity to be displayed like a symbol, a token, of success and triumph over the inanity that is total control and domination.
Because breaking the wild into your arms and control is the only satisfaction of a man who can longer find joy in the frivolity of his shit creation that is this domesticated prison. The wild can no longer fight for freedom if they are broken.
So maybe the answer is to let go-- like the tenuously shallow roots of the mighty Sequoia. I shall not fall under your axe because as the wind blows tonight, I shall fall of my own accord. Despite the timeline being one of your own design...
A thousand years I can live peacefully until you mark me with the hatred of your privilege and selfish affects. Then I must choose to die with honor or to fall with your impatient ignorance. Should I choose-- should I sacrifice? Should I... what should I do?
I fear the happiness that impulsiveness can bring.
But it is not impulsive. It's well calculated. It's just intimidating.
It's easier to let go of what you aren't sure of than it is to adventure into what's uncertain and unexplored. Even if it seems like it will be good. Even if you know you'll survive.
But why survive?