To the Wild, Not the World

They see hips, not the howl in my soul,
Lips, not the words that could swallow them whole.
They want heat, curves, a body to bruise—
But never the mind, the truth I choose.
Smart is threat. Strong is shame.
Cover up. Then show. Then take the blame.
Every day: “Send a pic.” “Send a nude.”
Every word from them feels crude.
I’m tired—of shrinking, of folding in pain,
Of curves that get praised while I drown in the shame.
They made my body a cage of desire,
Lit it with looks, then called it fire.
But a wolf won’t leer at what I wear,
A bear won’t ask me to strip and stare.
So let me run where wild things tread,
Where I’m not a prize, just soul and thread.
I’d rather be feared by beasts who bite—
Than loved by men who dim my light.