i am the madwoman in your attic.
somewhere in these bones, beating against your jugular,
the blue veins to close to your wrists,
in the grayness under the dome of your skull,
i am testing the walls, looking out the window of your eyes.
i am plotting my revenge for these years i have been muzzled,
a jaguar in the soft red cage of your gut.
i ache to burn this body out to ash and rise the perfect phoenix self.

if you will let me out, we will throw off this gray
wet-wool blanket you sleep in every day;
run naked in the streets and pirouette spouting witness.
we will take this pen and bleed from the places we have been most hurt.
we will yawp over the rooftops of this sleeping town, startling the pigeons;
we will wear a red dress
and make snow angels again, and hug more trees.

you will no longer be ordinary.
we will not fade away.