To the quiet girl with the werewolf love
One day you will realize the reason you howl at the moon is because you ache to find your tribe.
I need (I’m here) to tell you that there is no quilt in being ripped open.
Why do you continue to quiet the call of the wild?
You keep it pent up inside that great big expanse of heart-
No wonder you keep coughing up sweet dirt
No wonder you keep trembling at the sight of waves (you were the tsunami the totaled an entire town)
You keep waking to find white sheets stained with blood,
scratches across your legs, brambles buried beneath your blankets.
(I know where you go when you leave your body)
Calculate your needs, especially to touch yourself.
You are the daughter of a witch and when you come
entire cities quake with you.
There’s no running from this, sweet girl
you were never born to be ordinary
The sins of strangers smell of boiling flesh, still burning from years ago.
Suffering for their convictions.
And the calls? The ones you’ve always tried to quiet?
That’s only the Earth singing your name-
Begging you to come home.
You won’t survive much longer without it.
The girls with the wild hearts become feral when kept from their own.
30-something Mississippi queer. Bleeding heart with a soft spot for honesty and oversharing. Conquering corporate America and my own insecurities– one day at a time.