Made of More

Where are the words to put to my wisdom? I have tried, and thought they were heard.

Written, and thought I wrote well.

How do I inscribe the page with all the strength it took

To get through every day in a danger I knew

Intimately, infinite,

While it swelled and grew and I shored up

Everything I could hide and call "me"? How do I tell you so you will see? Or will you close your eyes and Turn the leaf in a fickle wind? Gather together and sweep the wagons into a circle

Against my howling, and you think it wolves.

The wolves are long gone. I have never been a wolf. Why do you think someone wounded by them

Is made of the same stuff? I am made of stars and oceans, I contain worlds You hate my wounds because of The power I found through them

And because I do not shrink from

Your unsheathed claws.