Warning. Yes, I waddle when I walk, look like a skunk on steroids. You may think to come near, to enter my space, to chuckle at my weird attempts at defense. Don’t mistake my slowness or strange appearance for acquiescence and accommodation. I learned early that everyone is a stranger, even those who are not. My heart lives in a neutral zone, scorched and deforested, at the edge of the sea, servitude at my back and the promised land a vague and unseen promise.
I mark my space with spikes, a painful defense by isolation. Survival is my refuge, my destination, my home. Beware, stay back. Enter at your own risk.
Inspired by daily word: quill