A Callback To Self

I am an absurd woman. Thus very fascinated with unabashed insanity because I have hidden my own. My little me would not recognize this facade of soundness I have cloaked myself so thoroughly in. Though, we have always felt restricted by metalization. A fond trait for counselors, but a torturous state for my own wild and esoteric personality. I apologize to myself for running from and thus ruining my own kooky. For hiding from mania and dammed emotion. Let my cackle frighten the witches and my expressions ward off men. I give permission for my freak flag of surreality to flap frantically on the calmest of days!

I admire gentleness, languid, whispery, and serene in a woman. I used to wish the attributes upon myself, feigning velvet and mellow. I get quiet sometimes, and only ever to hush the frenetic. Only ever to subdue a cacophony of offbeat mania. This sort of anarchic lady within my body does hopes of release and is deeply unconcerned with perception. I, though, know she is not welcome in every room. Bedlam stirs among my marrow. It is absurd and immoral to tame nature, to tuck rabidity in thick comforters and wish it goodnight.