Feral

I was born on the forest floor,

among jagged stones and summer moss,

raised on morning dew and the screams of crows.

I learned to walk in autumn fog,

watching trees claw like fingers through a veil,

grasping- always grasping- towards the sky.

I stood alone in winter silence,

watching fractals of immortality spiral down,

burning at bare skin before winking into nonexistance.

.

.

.

and you call me feral

as if the aching of this untamed soul

is something to be ashamed of.