Not Fur but Fin
You can’t delay the river, I’ve tried, all it does is distort. I block the flow and swamp ensues, mighty oaks waist deep in water. The current is strong and I fear being swept away, not realizing I was born to swim. Dreading the swim back for spawn I try to stay too close to my origins, never make it to open water, never to live the life I was intended for. I’ve heard it said, “Don’t push the river it flows by itself,” but I can’t stall it either.
Line up the little endearments offered you
FEEDING THE MONSTER
Who will feed the monster, once they’ve made her?
Her hunger burns in her like a beacon
Should I let her starve?
Should I put her on rations of old crust and tepid water?
Rebuke her as if she were her own idea
Possibly bind her hands and cover her eyes
Stand her in line with the good girls and fit her in
Turn her visage from her desire and tell her to forget?
Hold her hand and tell her that’s enough?
When I stand in the face of her yawning hunger
What do I say—It’s for your own good?
Well that’s what THEY said too.