You call yourself a free spirit, a “wild thing,” and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It’s wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.
when they tamed you, when they made you,
they took something wild and feral and said:
‘this is how you walk among men,
this is how you pass as one:
this is how you stand, how you sit,
this is how you eat and talk.
(do not growl, do not bare your teeth:
you are no longer just beast, you are now man as well).
‘this is when you bite and when you tear,
this is when you purr and sit docile.
(you are a pet, a weapon: we forged you into what you are now.)
this is how you make them think you are helpless,
(bare your throat, not your teeth: tilt your head back.
show submission and bide your time).
and this is how you tear out their still-beating heart.’
what they did not account for is that when you forge a weapon,
when you take something feral and give it the mask of man,
you must never forget what you started with.
their blood is on your hands now, and you smile at the moonless sky with blood matted in your hair. (CNS)
Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell,’ Holly advised him. ‘That was Doc’s mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can’t give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they’re strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That’s how you’ll end up, Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.“
"She’s drunk,” Joe Bell informed me.
“Moderately,” Holly confessed….Holly lifted her martini. “Let’s wish the Doc luck, too,” she said, touching her glass against mine. “Good luck: and believe me, dearest Doc – it’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.
I need a warrior and I refuse to settle for anything less. I need someone who will take my hand when the hurricane hits. Someone who will grab my hand and say take a deep breath and pull me off a cliff with them while we land in the ocean beneath us to avoid the troubles behind us. I need someone who is strong enough to allow me to take his hand and guide him when he is uncertain of what to next. Someone whose ego isn’t too big to run into my arms when the weight of the world is on their shoulders and allow me to keep them in my safe embrace till their fears subside. I need a warrior, someone who can handle the angel and the devil inside me. Someone who looks at me and know that I carry a hurricane within me and who is confident and capable enough to calm the wild thing hidden deep within me.