I have a wolf living inside of me,
she howls,
estranged from her pack,
she sings herself to sleep everynight,
in hopes her mother would come,
and cradle her,
but just how the day could never meet the night,
It seemed she was born into the wrong home,
Throat cut in quartets,
Making a master piece of art,
my Body,
Howling,
Growling,
Weeping.
My mother, laughing, not knowing any better.
But this embodiment of Wolf,
She has melodies coated in hunger writhing out of my mouth,
A xylophone as teeth, bringing orchestras alive from the throat,
This hunger for new, for more, for life,
Due to the exoskeleton cracked in every way,
An ornament, broken, then fixed,
broken, then fixed,
then broken all over again,
It has become easier to take the burns now,
She can hack anything, diligent,
Easier to taste the sweetness when it comes,
Like melting butter and sugar to the tongue,
Licking the last bit of pleasure from Spoon,
Extremeties of feeling,
My wolf and I wholeheartdly throw ourselves into love,
this english word of love, how belittling,
I throw myself into intimacy, into fantasy, into ecstasy,
into other dimensions, my soul glowing with another,
I can give so much,
Butt being burnt, can feel as though there is no water to extinguish the pain,
An oasis away is where there is peace, yet oasis it is, so out of reach,
Suffocated from the mouth, hand over hair pulling,
Kicking, killing,
It can feel as though you are standing moroccan sand on summers day, your feet giving way,
No ground to stand on,
making blood boil,
Stings like bees stinging in August,
How for hours the pain can be felt,
but for me,
time becomes subordinate, and pain rampages,
Pain can rule all,
Tears become rivers,
The river becomes my life,
My eyes become a victim to my emotions,
Now they are yellow, hoping the Moon will shine the white back into them,
Maybe I am the tears,
A tear drop, a vessel to hold memory,
My whole body a living museum of what was orchestrated upon me,
My tears are my evidence,
Are my confessions to the Lord when I weep,
I am the water,
My body, a living memory,
But just like how the Moon pulls the Ocean,
I pray it comes shifts the memory out of me,
I want to watch the womb bleed out the agony,
Want her to give birth to the clots of torment,
Let it exit,
I want the source of this cursed pain to be exiled,
Let her go visit hell,
Never to enter anyones home,
The home is my body,
A structure robust enough to contain my soul,
My sanctury of living Art,
I am art, my body is my home,
With walls that engage with only me,
Soley Me,
Noone can come knocking on my skin,
Leaving a litter of marks,
Noone can come unannounced into my ears,
Shrieking horrors of which the body may go under lockdown,
It is only me,
I have the lock,
Suprisingly,
My heart remains open,
Beating,
Those in suffering can see me for me,
Those who cannot, only point fingers,
Stare at me, as if I was a crime,
Most people don’t understand,
Those who can see into my eyes, pretend to not,
People like me find our partners amongst other Wolves,
Amongst other tribes,
I am the abomination I am,
A Wolf,
A Poet,
a curator,
A Woman.