The City.
I am alone.
Quite literally. I am alone, in this big new city, and I am awake. I am surrounded by life, chatter, music and lights. It twinkles, the city, like stars guiding the lost towards a land unknown, lands unknowable. It breathes, this city, like an ancient being slowly awoken, yawns and swallows up the sky and you are left breathless, staring, standing, alone.
Oh. It drives me crazy. This city, it beckons to the madness hidden deep down in the crevices long forgotten within me, it lures, it calls, it moves. I am afraid of it. I am enraptured by it. I am conflicted. A woman is a terrible thing, a thing tightly leashed. A woman alone? worse.
I seldom feel human. I am more creature than woman.
I am a thing, a thing, a thing.
I am a thing, and it yearns to be freed.
What is a woman if not a monster of old, sealed away— trapped, beaten, bloody, starved?
...
I will climb up the walls, I will slit my own throat, I will drink this city's thick black blood. It is a violent thing, a woman. It unsettles you, a woman. I say let her. Let me.
I do not aim to inspire fear, I do not want to cause unease. I merely wish to express, the turmoil and truth of me, within me. It is ugly, yes, it is ravenous, yes. I will walk these unlit streets, and I will suck you into it with me. I will hear the screams and laugh, I will see despair and I will cry. Entertain me and contain me and distract me and chain me.
It has been barely a week and I am halfway unravelled. The threads are coming loose, the shape distorted. Am I human? Am I? What am I? Who am I? Let me know, when you understand.
What is a woman, if not contained?
