(no subject)

there's a gnawing in my core this weekend — something bone-deep with claws and teeth, radiating from where a tail would be if i didn't keep cutting it back. is this the breakdown of my body and who i know, where i live. am i breaking down, becoming compost, this rich grounding from where another me begins. something truer, meaner, strong, holy. enveloping. sprung up from the fetid pile of who i pretend to be or who they want to see. i'd yank up those fresh roots and grow forward, sunreached, stretched wide and the air filling pockets in my lungs where it'd never been. i'd leave memories behind and live new in this hide — tanned, pressed — cool where i was hot, but still soft. somewhere you could lay down at night, look up and enjoy the stars.