gods and werewolves

I am trying to become softer in all the ways that matter
And in all the ways that don’t, too
So that I can learn to love not just this vessel,
But the space it takes up

When I stopped writing your name in the sand,
I stopped howling at the sky
Thought I could trick myself into being unbroken,
Unangry
Unnervous and unsad
Now I spell out my own name and I let the waves carry me off
I am reborn in the seafoam,
Something unholy but god-like, caught in between human and entity

I still cry at the moon on bad nights,
Let the rot inside me surface to flesh and slough off under the stars
What is a werewolf but an angry woman?
Does it have to be all she ever is?
She still has her fur all velvet and warmth
She still has her meat that gives to silver
In this way, I am soft
In this way, I am an animal more human than beast
More cobweb than creature

I want to give myself an ending that does not punish
I want to give the wolf her dignity
I want to be her empathy
Does she remember what it was like to run without being chased?
To be wild in a way that doesn’t hurt like hunger?

Everything I’ve ever written has been the same:
“I love you, I’m sorry, I wish this wasn’t all I could be”
I still love you, I’m still sorry
I’ve been this, but so much more

I practice putting my ghosts to rest
I lie in the grass and watch the stars
The moon howls to me, too