Jekyll and Hyde

Are we wild animals? Wild in the best way, wild untrained sort of wild. My skin is trained, part of my mind is trained to socialize, but something under it giggles in the dark in secret. I don’t talk like this to people out in the daylight, I don’t talk like this. I write it. Two part of myself, two parts of my existence. They feel so separate in me, but link fingers like old friends walking down an unlit street under a heavy moon. They exist and they don’t. When I want the writing-self to come out it hides, when I want the skin-self to take over some unkempt strand sticks out at odd angles. It’s not a battle – that would mean they disliked each other – it’s more like an atmosphere, you can never predict the change.
Very few people exist in both parts. But there are a few. And even then they don’t see all of me all the time and I wonder why that is. Why my voice is different in sound and in the waves of my brain? I hope someday to be able to converge the two. One eye brown the other hazel. I hope to see the greener left burn brighter. Or should I even try at all?

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