Wild Things

Too much easy. Too much soft. Too much heart. I grew arms and legs. A loud mouth. Clenched fist. I let no one climb through my window. I let no one open my door. I told myself to forget the story where the girl was saved. I stood with the dragons, fought without armor — did not need it; knew the swing and crack of bone — was used to the bruise, to the blood. This is my punch. This is my kick. This is my fight. Set fire to your own tower, even if you burn up in it. Whatever rises from the ash will laugh wild and free.

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