Feed the good wolf he says,
as if he knows right from wrong.

I am prey,
he remains hunter,
and this is where
I’m supposed to
let my hands gnarled,
******, to match
the stains on my back
because it’s more fitting, he says.

I learned that our parents
teach us sayings,
as translation always changes
throughout the years -

no words of mercy were staining lips
in the times of Roman hierarchy,
or how child abuse today
was merely strict parenting back then.

When they say curiosity killed the cat,
they never told us
satisfaction brought it back,
Or how jack of all trades is a master of none
but they don't tell us it is better than a master of one.

They lie to us,
because great minds think alike
yet fools rarely differ.

So don’t question me
when I believe
Blood of the covenant,
of word and life;
is thicker than
the water of the womb;

Don’t you remember?
The doctors cut me away at birth.

O, how wolves are now dead.

Just like this family does.
And here we are,
a mansion of memories,
waiting to take a number.

As if these walls now hold real grass,
and snaking each other out,
because we’re all hurting.

Don’t call me emotional,
for I used to see beauty in people;
now merely muscle and bone,
flesh and open wound,
skeletal mass, and empty.

I’ve finally learned.