Here's a poem chronicling the last time I went feral. I fear this time is going to be even worse and involve explosions, nudity, and massive quantities of BBQ and moonshine.
I used to growl...
at menacing men of the subway train.
I used to howl...
to the moon, naked, in the pouring rain.
I used to claw...
the back's of lovers and eyes' of rivals.
I used to woo, then kill...
just for the thrill.
I used to bite the hand that fed me,
With no fear of being talked about, left out,
Taken off the guest list.
I was feral.
But, I awoke one day,
To find along the way...
I had been domesticated.
The 800-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets stretched out beneath me.
The pink pajamas, emblazoned with kittens and strands of Christmas bulbs...
that I was wearing despite the fact that it was only October.
The man dozing next to me...
The clean-shaven, gainfully-employed man who hadn't...
Talked to me in weeks...
Kissed me in months...
Been in love with me for years...
And yet was still here.
When did I fall into to this insidious rut?
And start putting Neosporin on a paper cut.
Not roller skating without wrist guards,
Keeping a drawer full of hostess gifts and Hallmark cards.
Bragging about my deviled eggs.
Wearing stockings on my lotioned legs.
Networking with people that I'd rather slap.
Not leaving the house without a Google map.
Scrubbing an apple before taking a bite.
Forgetting my instinct for fight or flight.
I have forfeited my freedom for a Roth IRA.
I've been cowering in a cage built from complacency,
Fettered by fear,
Hand-fed and housebroken,
Too plump and pampered to hunt for my own food,
Yet still starving for passion.
Tonight, that hunger gnaws through my frame,
I am tired of tame.
I want wild.
I want to run just to feel the wind in my hair.
I want to fuck just to know there is someone else there.
I want to drink straight from the bottle,
And smash it on the floor.
I want to kick in every door,
Then shatter every mirror,
So I can see myself clearer.
I want to shred every matching towel,
And torch my wedding album.
I am going to revert,
Go ballistic, Go berserk.
And throw the past thirteen years on a fire fueled by Dominican rum and Chanel #5.
Then, I will flee to the forest,
To be reraised by wolves.
After a year with the pack,
I'll come back...
Tangled and Tanned,
Ferocious and free.
To those who knew me...
Especially, to those who thought they knew me best.
Tonight, I declare myself dangerous.
Tonight, the man-eater emerges.
Tonight, oh baby, tonight...
You best beware my bite.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.