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
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