Saturday, March 2, 2013

I Say I Don't Like Cowards, But...

I really, really cannot stress enough how important it is to be up front about your feelings. That being said, I am the biggest offender when it comes to shoving my feelings in the back of the closet. No joke. If I like a guy, and instead of finding ways of slipping my hand in his or something romantic like that, I instead try to take the long way around and try every single way of beating around the bush possible. I make a point of caring and being there for him, but as soon as we get down to raw emotion, I bolt. If I'm angry at someone, I don't let them see how hurt I am, and I never yell, unless I'm pushed into it. I just cool off, and then if it's still vexing me, whatever, it is that irritated me in the first place, I sit down and I talk it out. I'm afraid of letting people see that I am as sensitive and as fragile as the rest of the human race.

It has come to the point in my life where I need to turn around and evaluate why this is and how can I make a change for the better. Why am I so afraid of letting someone see my vulnerabilities? I never had issues with trust, though I've had my share of disappointments. I have never been abandoned. I've never had to deal with any major hardships. I've been strangely fortunate in my life as far as my interactions with people have gone. Yet, still, I'm so gun-shy, so leery of what might happen if I open up. Is it instinct? Is it fear? Why have I built these walls, keeping people out? Why am I such a shut-in?

I am well practiced at giving my opinion and letting people know what I like and what I don't like. And I've grown confident enough that no one is allowed to truly dictate to me what I should or should not do. But I still can't find the strength to be the person to take charge, to truly be a leader, an example. I never step up, afraid to make mistakes. So maybe it is fear. So then perhaps I need to remember how to be brave.

Beta

Slinking through the night, dark fur harvests the moonlight,
taking in, never giving back.
Shining eyes watch her leader, then watch as her and her alpha's followers
fall in line. The hunt has begun.
I watch them through the grasses as they traipse out of thick groves,
and I know she has caught my scent. Her ears prick in my direction,
attentive, but silent.
She will not risk rebellion if she does not need to,
and it seems my musk is not one of nefarious overtones.

Prey lingers near, smell of food and adrenaline, and she forgets me
for a brief, pulsating moment. Instinct kicks like a hoof to the rear,
and she takes off, a whip snapping on the open plain.
Her questioning is seldom, her knowledge vast.
I wonder how something so exacting could be so submitting,
and my question cuts quicker when she receives a blow to the jaw from a silvered female -
the alpha as well as her mate - and instead of fighting for herself,
instead of biting back, for her teeth look deathly pearlescent,
she shrinks back, tongue held and bitter knowing rescinded.
She remembers her place.
She will not fight for higher goals, for the pack is a teetering boat not to be rocked.

Suddenly, the big male spies me lurking near.
A quick bark to the others, and suddenly, like shadows, they drag away
a few small carcasses, fit for a baron's feast.
She looks at me, my little beta female,
and I cannot help but shed a tear.
One tear for the little wolf
with the world on her shoulders,
without complaint.

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