What you
don’t know is
the wolves
came when I was much too young
and sunk
their teeth into the deep of me and left a hole.
The
surgeries to repair the damage
have not yet
gone far enough,
and so I
carry this wreckage around inside
where I’ve
hidden them
and
stretched Kevlar over the scars.
Sometimes I
strip it off
and break
things in half
to produce a
rough edge
and cut the
stitching open again
to watch the
blood flow
down the
shower drain.
Sometimes I
make suggestive
remarks to a
near stranger
and show a
little too much cleavage
while gazing
intently at their mouth.
Male or
female, it doesn’t matter,
it’s a heart
I’m looking for,
since mine
is near drained.
I have this
counselor
who loves
me, I think.
Or else she
is just really good
at letting
her eyes well up with tears
when I tell
my stories.
She says to
not stop wanting connection,
to not stop
looking to God
for love,
to safe
people, for love too.
But God, I
fear, allows things
I am still
struggling to understand.
And safe
people, well,
most days I
think it is safer
to love the
oil slick street after rain.
Jesus, she
once said to me,
understands
being bloodless
and mangled
and left with holes.
And he
wasn’t even repulsed by a girl like me.
I haven’t
told anyone yet
but I’m
beginning to think maybe I could like a guy like that.
© 2013
Jennifer Wagner
