There is a fierceness that has consumed her soul. Wild eyes not searching but scorching. Stretched too tight and she broke the mold.
There isn’t anything else but her. Run free, run wild, run amok, who cares who sees? Who cares for leashes over land? Who cares for permissions from any man? Who would rather practice docility behind bars that let taunting breeze play? …who am I to think I’ll ever be good at “stay?”
A collar of gold against a soul is still sinfully adorned. Naked and bold is how warriors were born. Naked and bold is all she’ll agree to be told. Freed from all the chains she trapped herself in; freed from anything that could keep her from bigger, wilder, less tame things.
She shakes her stubborn hair loose. Into maniacal curls. She laughs in the wind. She was never good at being a tamed girl.