The chained wild

At night I wake up and drag myself out of bed

my too wild brain taking over my too human body

on hands and feet and knees and fingers I crawl

to the nearby mirror and look

at the reflection, of a body that is not mine.

The dark surrounds me and I begin

to change, limbs heavy and head light,

wings sprout from my back like

roots caving in flesh, so so heavy

as teeth fill my mouth with sharp knives.

For a moment I feel like I cannot breathe,

hands turned in claws claw at my mouth turned in beak

and I gasp for air that can't reach

my damaged lungs, filled only with panic

and a shout that sounds more like a roar.

The wild looks at itself, glowing

yellow eyes in slit pupils and dark scales

that cover the once human skin,

breathing freedom, trembling from chains

unlocked, wondering if it will ever be human again.

But it can't, it never was

and it's tired of pretending otherwise, so

in the dark it makes a promise:

I will never

be chained again.