Upon my skin you crawl to life.
Up on my throne your younglings sound asleep.
You pay me back with flames and fire
by cutting my lovely hair to make me weep.
You claim to be my friend, my love
only when my womb is to bring you grain and gain.
But when it’s waves and dust and blood
I’m a demon, you seek to inflict on me pain.
When my shores are trembling,
for I’m about to piss myself and put on shame,
you mourn for what your race has lost
and decide that I’m the one to blame.
I am so much ashamed and damned
since my sons stopped calling me mum.
The ungrateful bipeds with lust to feel exceptional.
I simply wish they would not forever be dumb.
My beauty has struck your eyes with awe,
but upon my other forms, the adoring beast,
the most exalted animal look with disdain.
They kill and burn and feast.
Look deep into the past,
into the eyes of the pale wolves, into the deep,
to see the beauty in the beast at last,
so all with breath together can lovingly weep.
I’ll whisper my songs through the woofs of pups and the tweets of chicks
and the baas of lambs about my dream with a slap that is tender
even if you cut me into bitches, thighs, and mutton
I will cherish you and bleed forever.
See me, look at me, hug me,
Keep me, cure me, or let me die.
Don’t take me, shoot me, kill me,
but listen to me when I cry.
“Beneath the black of the eyes, my long-lost love,
will we find each other after the dark?
Oh, your beauty hurts as a song-frosted dove.
Mum, do you care? I still feel for you, I will hark.
I wish I could come back to you,
once again feel the wind whispering before I come,
once again feel the rain falling inside me,
cleansing the demon I have become.”