Werewolf

L’homme est un loup pour l’homme - Unknown, graffiti in Paris

 

Why do they come at me with these claws?

hooked nails better served to dig,

teeth more designed to chew into the self

instead as soon as my fur is settled

it seems they snap for the throat

like a wolf, they always go as low as they can

come at my guts, the confessions I spilled like blood

the place within the cage of my ribs

where I keep the meat secret that is me

they repeat I’m Sorry like a howl,

night after night after night

then flex to do it again

as soon as my back is turned

and I can't be anyone's meal anymore