I'm a lot like you,
I really am,
we could get along great-
but people don't seem to understand.

I wasn't raised like they were,
they didn't experience my neglect.
I have sixteen years of life to catch up on-
lost time of learning how to be a person
I need to reclaim.

I was raised in a cave.
I learned how to live on all fours.
I know how to fight
I know how to run
I know how to eat and sleep
and I know how to howl at the moon.
But I don't know how to be your friend.
I don't know how to snuggle up close
without biting the hand that feeds me.
I'm a predatory creature
but a submissive one,
and if you shout too loud
I'll tuck my tail between my legs
and cower.
I'm loyal too easy but harsh,
barking at anyone who comes near.
I don't know how to trust like you do.
I don't know about hugs
and love and rewards
and all common that makes you human,
I don't know any of it.
I know how I was raised,
on all fours,
head to the sky,
fending for myself.

Late December: my father and I
are going to New York, to the circus.
He holds me
on his shoulders in the bitter wind:
scraps of white paper
blow over the railroad ties.

My father liked
to stand like this, to hold me
so he couldn't see me.
I remember
staring straight ahead
into the world my father saw;
I was learning
to absorb its emptiness,
the heavy snow
not falling, whirling around us.

Sitting,
Listening,
Pondering,
Breathing in the clear night,
Basking in the full moon,
Feeling exhaustion.
Drip off of my body,
Feeling the cold nip at my knees,
Gazing up.
My eyes following the lines of constellations,
Taking a moment just to be,
Because there really isn't anything better.

Is it wrong that I feel like I'm breaking?
I seem fine, I act fine
--but am I subconsciously faking--
these feelings; my emotions
happiness: a dreamer in disguise
or sorrow laced with lies