Tuesday, October 31, 2017

The Angry Queen

Snow is falling but it melts on my skin. I sizzle. I steam.

I am hot, I am boiling, I am volcanic.

I can feel myself glowing within - not that earthchild warm moon glow; violent sun surface glow, angry vengeful goddess glow, cracking beneath my skin, magma roiling and twisting in thick clumps of liquid stone and heat.

How do I sit here in my pale-wall cubicle with my feet on the chair and coffee in my mug and hide this explosive woman under my surface. How do they not see me burning and flowing?

Phones ring. Keyboards are attacked, the tic-tacking flicking and clicking nails running up my spine.

I want to flee, I want to be a creature. I am not fully human right now. I am churning with memories and sensation and feelings and so, so much heat. Broken hearts and anger and longing and bitterness melting through my veins and I absorb it all and it builds my walls up higher and thicker.

Once I cool there will be nothing but hard hard black stone around me.

I am a goddess of heat and then coldness. I flare and I burn and then I am hard, hard, and dark again. I still myself and try to control the turmoil within. I want to cool and solidify. I want to be cold. I want to be Diana in the woods. The wolf in the forest. Slashing and snapping with my nails and my teeth and my bow, hot and cold, ivory.

I am not comfortable in this real world. I am not made for things like heartache and 401(k)s and old women named Elaine.

I am unspoken words and fast actions. I am predator smelling, hunting, killing, seeking, being, moving, moving, moving against hard dry cold earth and surrounded by hard dry cold walls of black stone.

I'm burning with heat and kinetic frenzy but I sit shivering, fevered.

Are there others like me, moon people, earth people, who feel this? Who shake and vibrate in a world they don't belong to?

I miss my moon person. I was hot sun to his coldness. I fucking hate him. He burned that bridge and I would have let him chill me until I froze and died and disappeared in an igneous sarcophagus. I hate that I know that. Knowing how weak I am sets me on fire and I want to burn into him, reignite the bridge that's nothing but ash. I miss being miserable with him, that undeserving beast. What kind of disaster is that? The queen wolf and the cunning fox, we are not a match, but I sit here with coils of flame and ice within me missing him and his empty words and empty lies and empty face and I want to reach out and be burned just to feel it again.

Snow is falling outside and as I calm, it will fall within, and I will be impenetrable again.

I welcome the coldness.

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