The Wolf

The Wolf

why did i open the door to the monster that had already torn out my throat twice before? still have the scars but thought if i was capable of change, then so was he, forgetting my worth.

i swallowed his lies and drowned for months without being able to speak of the bites he stole from my soul and spat out in front of me, his blood-stained grin.

and as soon as I wasn’t her, he plunged the knife i gave him into my back, cut the rope and kicked me over the edge of the abyss.

but it’s okay.

I think this time I've finally learned my lesson.

Love, —

I’ve always wondered why people start their letters with “dear”. Were the first people to write letters friends? Lovers? Family? How close were they to spill their hearts upon a piece of paper, all starting with the word “dear”? 

I’m not going to start this with “dear”. You don’t deserve that. You never were my dear. Perhaps we could’ve, in another world, in another time. But not now. Not here. 

Is it possible to be heartbroken without any words being spoken? To crush hope without a noise? I always thought it’d be louder, bigger, greater, yet here I end with barely a whimper. 

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I should be over you. I thought I was over you. Yet each time I see you, there’s a pain in my heart, a twinge in my soul. You were the one who decided to stop talking to me, yet wherever you look at me, there’s something odd in your gaze. 

I don’t get it. Why? Every time I think it’s over, you talk to me—the barest conversation—and I do this all over again. You build me up then throw me down, all without realizing it. 

And I hate myself for it. I hate this feeling, this emotion that I can’t control. I hate that I know that it won’t work, yet I so desperately want it to work. I hate subconsciously looking for you everywhere I go. I hate remembering that your favorite color is blue, that you don’t like sweet foods. I hate thinking about your voice and what made you laugh. I hate knowing that you never looked at me the way I wanted you to. I hate knowing you loved someone else and she loved you too. I hate the relief I felt when you didn’t date her. I hate that I want you. I hate that I miss you. I hate that I love you. 

But I could never hate you. 

I wish I could. I wish I could scream and cry and yell at you. I wish I could tell you exactly how I feel. I wish I hated you instead of myself. 

But I don’t. 

So I’m sorry. 

I love you. 

you. 

indescribable, ineffable—

every word for beautiful could fail to describe you. 

every phrase meaning i love you

ardent, luminous, so exquisitely ruinous

would fail, tottering and stumbling, 

to capture your essence. 

yet you’re like the silken, moonlit night; 

a swatch of deep velvet sprinkled with stardust 

like bright fireflies caught in dark amber

like stars you can touch, small suns in your hands 

because holding you is like the sun in my hands 

i’d give you the sun if you asked me to

each dusted freckle like a delicate kiss

star-kissed

we are all made of stardust but you—beloved—

are made of the seraphic, most radiant of stars 

of perfection cradled in the heavens’ hands. 

and I would know you 

if we were nothing but dust and ash 

after the unraveling of the universe 

i’d know you after the death of all stars

i’d know you in utter darkness or light 

i will always know you—

you.

Right Here, Right Now

TW: mentions of suicide, self harm

What if, right here, right now, 

I just jumped from off this roof? 

What if, right here, right now, 

I took this gun?—for no one’s bulletproof. 

What if, right here, right now, 

I took this rope and let me swing? 

What if, right here, right now, 

I took those pills? These tiny things? 

Coward, you screamed—coward, coward

Never did anything right

Always failed, always disappointed

So what if I gave into the night? 

What if, right here, right now, 

I took this knife, right at that vein 

Slashed ‘til I found blood and bone

And let thick crimson liquid rain? 

So slit my throat. Slit my arms. 

Slice this traitorous heart of mine. 

Carve these words into my chest. 

Smile and say that everything’s fine. 

Cut these thoughts. Cut these hands. 

Cut the voices inside my head. 

Ignorance is bliss—and so’s oblivion

‘Cause nothing can hurt me if I’m dead. 

flicker

So small am I in Time’s tight fist, 

A singular match struck on stone. 

The drag of friction calls me into being, 

Only to flicker out as I am blown. 

Yet in this split second I illuminate more 

Than those who burn for centuries. 

My mere seconds compare to their hours; 

Time enough in my own eternity. 

Fleeting meaning against immortal being. 

Would you prefer to always be living? 

Mortals in their inevitable extinguish

see what the gods are always unseeing. 

Light the candle, slowly burning, 

Light it at the cost of me; 

How odd it is that I, so brief,

should teach the timeless how to be. 

spring dawn

You’re the snowdrop that delicately lifts 

Its head up from the melting snow—

The way first blades of grass push up

through the blanketed plateau. 

You’re the shy and rosy blush 

Of the briar’d, waxen rose; 

The golden warmth of apricity

and the hopping, playful crows. 

You’re the soft and dew-touched hush 

Of the leaves after the rain—

The deep bellow of white-winged geese 

Heading home—home—again. 

You’re the fragile, dainty dance 

Of the young and prancing fawn; 

The dappled light of komorebi 

From the slow rising of spring dawn.