Killing My Wild

The wild in me has been tranquilized and caged. Between the beatings, the wild paced back and forth, looking through the steel bars for a way out. After this last whipping, however, my wild was cut up, left bleeding, and has decided to “lay it down”. She has retreated to a corner, is licking her wounds and is trying to heal in the “safety” of an enclosure.

I lay in shock. With each heart-wrenching crisis, I told myself that “this has to be the last of the bad luck” - that “things can only get better from here.” I am now afraid. I fear another hit and that my spirit will die from a final blow. God, save my wild . . . please.