Sometimes, I have to remind people, that my soft has sharp edges. I am not my gender stereotype; all lipstick and sweetness.
I am a wolf.
Feral. Gruff. Direct.
Something that draws fear- until I don’t.
I exist in glimpses, in fragments, in slivers. I don’t own the night, I steal from the darkness, my pockets spill over with
gold blown like kisses, like wishes..
What would I become, if I no longer carried the weight of all of this?