i want to be
a wolf.
big,
fearsome
no one's fucking prey,
able to keep
the whole
big bad
world
at bay.
but
i'm barely a lamb,
a lost little lamb,
though maybe
these days
i've finally found
my way.
though a lamb's
still
a lamb,
at the end
of the day.
the herd is my safe place,
and i can let my wool grow out,
look like the biggest fucking lamb
around
no doubt.
but
that's just my wool,
it's not me,
it's just
what i've got on,
what the world sees,
and maybe one day
i can knit that wool
into a nice wolf
sweater,
be the lamb in wolves clothing,
and pretend that'll
make the world
better.
but a lamb
is still a lamb,
despite what he wears,
and that vulnerable
little
creature is me,
no matter
what i try to be.
YOU ARE READING
Melancholia
Poezjapoetry takes us to so many places, and we take poetry to so many places. here are poems about places, and sometimes the people found in them.
