The Feral Rage is Rising

By Stephanie Bacquet Mathews

The Feral Rage is rising.

Reading that the most powerful men, who burned for control, choose to do so over innocent children. Over and over and over.

The starting of this country was born, with control over bodies. Bodies of slaves, women, children.

All for power.

And my feral, sacred, embodied, human animal, is seething.

I can feel myself unhinging. Unraveling.

I am allowing myself to spiral.

Being a predator to the most innocent, weakest, and most easily manipulated population of society, children, is not worthy of spending a life in prison.

This is not rehabiltation-able. This is a distortion of reality that allowed them to justify, purchase and laugh about harm.

We the middle aged women, who are filled with feral rage, are in a position to rise up.

I will not have these predators, these men, think they can control my body.

Think they can have my daughter.

I will not allow their poison to infect another human.

I see a visual of a mother bear, tearing the throat out of a predator that has come to close to her cubs.

I will not choose life.

I will choose my peace, my joy, and my loves.

While I watch everyone of these predators hanging from a lamp post, or their heads rolled from a guillotine.

I choose my feral human animal rage.

I choose to end the era of men as predators.

I will rise up against this brutality.

As a crone, this is why we have been silenced.

I will not be silenced.

I will find my feral raging sisters, and we will defeat this plague of humans that have preyed for too long on our innocent.

We are many. They are few. Yet, they have used their manipulation and control to pit us against each other.

When the women rage, we will not be contained.

My feral rage, has spilled over my cup.

I can not put it back into place. It overflows, and will not be contained.

My feral rage, is not scary, it is justified.

My feral rage, will not be used against the innocent, it will be used to protect what needed to be held in the center, surrounded by all, this whole time.

How did we allow the children to pulled to the outskirts, to be hidden in the shadows, buried in bureaucracy, and eaten alive?

How did we allow these men, who are never satiated, to gain this much control, power and money, just to have them spit in our faces, lies, and show that it is never enough?

It will never be enough for them, they hunger for more, so much more.

And my feral rage, begins to lap at their hunger. I will devour them.

I will allow my cup to spillith over.

I will not stop this onslaught.

I will not stop, until I am no longer prey. Until my children are no longer prey. Until the innocent are no longer prey.

I will not stop until the predators are all hanging.

Where are my feral raging sisters?