She says that she is afraid.
She says that there is just so much of her
And that it was impossible for anyone to tame her,
To take all that she is,
To love all that she unearths for them,
All her pride and foolishness,
And wild heart roaring as loud as thunder.
Her terrifying temper,
Her hissing,
Her deadly soul,
Her nails digging deep in every heart she's ever owned.
She says that she is too much.
And I try to understand how anyone on this entire earth can say this,
And feel sorry for themselves.
How anyone could ever say that they are too much,
With shaky hands and cracked voice.
Rather than a fist and bold tone,
Rather than a head held high,
And a face glowing with self satisfaction.
And I try to understand:
Why does an ocean want to be tamed?
Why is a storm afraid that no one can take everything it is?
How could a wild thing,
Feel sorry for itself ?
YOU ARE READING
My loved ones; a journey.
Poesía“Perhaps one did not want to be loved, as much as to be understood” George Orwell.
