What if the wolves have hands, and none of them are you, and none of them are yours? I have met someone I want, who wants differently than me. I am the only one who wants to be torn open. I will not try to change them. I will cry with my first child about all the people who could have loved us both. I will teach them the things I wanted them to learn from someone else, I hope I wrote down enough notes about having strong hands that are gentle; how to fix. I am sorry you don’t have their green eyes, bright like amber. What if the wolves have hands and none of them are you and none of them are yours and I am torn open and you are whole? Will you acknowledge the blood on my hands? Will you try to change me?
Bright like…












