Secret lives of stray beasts
tiger cubs who made it out of the zoo
hiding in the bushes, hoping to blend in
My ribcage is a reinforced cell
designed to hold wild animals in
the only exit is through my stomach
that's where I store all the excess pain
I have a long beautiful scar there
sometimes I want to rip it wide open
and let all the anger out
all the hurt, and the frustration, too
all the words I keep swallowing
all burning holes in their places.
Secret lives of stray poets
scribbling on the backs of used notebooks
and on forgotten blogs nobody reads.
Never befriend a child if you can help it
They are fickle things, cruel and remorseless
They either grow up too soon
Or find a new toy and disappear
Never expect life to be simple
After years of lull it can twist and turn
You can't turn tiger cubs into alley cats
You can't take emotions out of poets
Even if your force them into hiding.
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