Howling

A poem.

photo by Keegan Houser

I woke up feral one morning,
done with the leash

Fuck being palatable,
fuck the smile that costs me,
fuck every single person who ever said
you’re too much or not enough

I want the wild hours,
three in the morning and
a book that ruins me,
a film that doesn’t end clean,
conversations that crack me open
and leave me staring at the ceiling

I want the peace that comes
from burning the instruction manual,
from saying this time is mine,
this one terrible, beautiful,
precious life is mine
and I will not spend it
as someone else’s good idea

They’ll call it selfish.
Let them.
I’ve been so generous with my
slow disappearance
I almost forgot I was here at all

Not anymore.
Now I’m howling,
taking up space,
out of fucks to give.

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Thanks for reading!

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