Poems

This is what it's like to love a wolf:

He will bite you.

You can love him with all you can give him, and he'll still bite you.

You know this, and you still love him.

He tells you,

"I am a wolf. I am scared and shot at and abused and I will bite you."

You know this. He is a wolf and he will bite you.

He won't listen when you say you love him.

You think he thinks of you as the same as the men who shoot at him from their property lines.

You reach into his cage, try and pull the bloody bullet lodged in skin and fur and flesh and-

He bites.

That's what wolves do.

You can try and tame him.

Love him as dog and man, wife and husband.

Try and save yourself from the fact that wolves bite.

It takes more time that you can fathom to tame a wolf.

Besides, you like to love a wolf.

Because he loves you as a wolf loves you.

You know that he loves you.

He loves you, and he bites you.

You know that.

But does he love you as a wolf loves easy prey?

You've made yourself easy.

You let him bite you.

This is what it's like to love a wolf:

You try and make yourself an easy meal.

I am trying so desperately to be Atlas.

All I want is to take the burdens of everyone onto my broad shoulders-

Let me carry it for you.

Let me help you.

Let me be strong for you.

Please, in turn, ignore how I crack.

How my arms shake and burn with pain.

Ignore how I am not Atlas-

Let me be Atlas!

Let me hoist your struggles far above you.

Let me be the one who helps you.

I am trying so desperately for you.

Please just believe, for a moment, that I am Atlas.

Believe that I truly can carry all of this alone.

That way I can try to believe that I can, that I have the strength.

Let me be Atlas.

Let me hold the weight.

Let me carry the world-sized weight of everyone's burdens.

Please excuse how I am breaking.

How my knees crumple and how my fingers bleed as I adjust my grip.

No need to reach out a helping hand!

Simply stack more of your weight and worry in my arms.

It will help me-

It will make me Atlas-

Or it will kill me in the attempt.

I am a knight.

Prideful in my position,

Strong, shining.

Brave in the face of fear.

Leading the way-

A protector.

Beating back the dark with iron.

A sword doesn't know what it hits,

It swings where it's pointed.

A knights job is not comfort.

A protector does not mean a comforter-

The sword I hold points where I look.

Many people look to me-

For protection.

I can deal with protection.

I am made to protect.

It is my duty, as a knight.

I take pride in that.

Many people look to me-

For comfort.

I am not a comforter-

I do not take pride in comfort.

It is not where I look.

I am a gleaming, shining knight.

So many people look to me for comfort.

They should not look at me so long.

Do they not know that I will look back?

A sword swings where it's pointed,

And it swings where I look.

"Its not the end of the world,"

I scream it, let the sound of my voice ring out.

"How many times should I yell it to you?

The world isn't ending,"

I say it with authority.

The ground is solid under our feet,

waves gently rolling up the shore.

You don't believe me, it's easy to tell.

"It feels like it, to me!"

You scream back, the noise breaking with fear.

"I don't understand how you don't see it,

don't you feel the end?"

You say it like I'm out to get you.

Shaking like an earthquake is ripping the world in two,

damp with tears like the ocean has already swallowed you whole.

This isn't the first time you've screamed apocalypse to me.

One day I'll be cruel enough to let you believe it.

But today I take your hand in mine,

Lead you away from the shore.

Try for one more day to keep you away from the end of all things.

You can reach out and touch.

Grab, even.

Grope, claw, bite down with your teeth,

But God forbid you hold on.

Don't you know this is impermanent?

Stupid child, playing games

Made for adult hands.

You pass it on, because it's not yours to keep.

You can reach out and just barely brush it,

Electric, ecstatic.

Soft, plush, press your fingers into flesh.

But God forbid you hold it.

Don't you know things like this are finite?

Stupid heart, wanting touch

That cannot last.

You pass it on, because you can't hold all of it.

You don't want to keep it alone,

You want to touch it, grab, grope, hold-

Stupid childish heart.

You should know better

Than to want what you can't hold.