Wildness, Uncontained (Observation #25)

There's an energy in me that I'm not sure how to describe, or contain. It's a wildness that I try to unleash at a pace and to a degree that I think is acceptable to people, because I realize that not everyone has this in them. Or maybe they do, but it looks different. But I don't think so. I think it's something that a very small percentage of people can tap into, and then begin to understand how to wield and tackle, and sometimes tame. It's a kind of unhinged passion, a trace of madness. It comes out in little ways -- laughter that borders on maniacal when I don't make an effort to mitigate it; needing to take time to catch my breath when I listen to certain kinds of music because I feel filled to the brim with something I can't explain; I smirk or shake my head or pop my eyes open when I read on the train because I'm flagrantly blown away by the skillful manipulation of language; the way I consume life-giving things like water and fruit is voracious -- I gulp and devour and ravage; the sounds I generate to express satisfaction and pleasure are shameless, tumultuous. Sometimes it's quiet and calm, thrashing under the surface. Sometimes it blazes from my eyes and pours out in a hot fury -- startling, frantic, vicious. If you haven't seen this thing in me, you're safe. But then you're probably missing out on the best part.

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They say that I'm a poet
I wonder what they would say
if they saw me
from the inside.
I bottle emotions and place them
into the sea
for others to uncork on distant shores --
I am unsure
as to whether they ever reach and
for that matter
as to whether I ever get my point across
             or my love.