She Is More Wolf Than Woman

She wanders through the days, on her own

Too afraid to unpack her heart, too daunted,

She’s learnt firsthand from her experiences

Every time she did, she was no longer wanted.

***

I struggle to understand the way of her world

How it is that she is always treated so hurtfully,

When she deserves kindness and understanding

But instead I watch, as she suffers involuntarily.

***

She has lived with storms, stars and moonlight

In fact she knows and loves them all intimately,

She consorts and befriends the forsaken ones

Sheltering them under her wings, so lovingly.

***

It is painful to hear her lone wolf, buried deeply

Whimper when she talks, hearing her sadness,

But I rarely ever see her shed a tear or weep

Her wolf’s tremor is the only sign of her madness.

***

She dresses daily in her pain, hurt and sorrow

It is stitched into her clothes, worn like a cloak,

The deepest of her pain is tattooed on her skin

Hidden pictures, scars, of which she never spoke.

***

I ask her how she survives this wild thing called life

And she gives the question immeasurable thought,

Then I hear her wolf, rise up from within and howl

“I run with the pack, wild, free, never to be caught.”

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Originally posted on Medium