Poetry Friday: I'm a Wild Child

Wild Child

S. Y. Headley

My anger's red,

bloody red.

I feel like I could

ROAR

like a wild lion.

My crying is soft,

drips and drops,

mist over the blue sky.

I'm a wild child,

roaming free.

I'm a wild child

with nobody to tell me NO.

I'm a wild child

with ratty brown hair

like logs and bark.

With eyes hazel nutty

as a rabid squirrel.

With clothes like a field of

wildflowers.

I'm a wild child,

whose anger is read as blood,

sadness white as the clouds

loathing as black as fire's coal.

I'm a wild child...

or am I just free?