for the wild children
with your gossamer wings
and your needle-sharp teeth,
they gather now
to watch you dance.
in the moonlight they see beauty,
but truly you are haunting.
the forest is your orchestra,
this clearing all your stage.
in the wind, you bend
but never break—
with your knotted hair
and your calloused bare feet,
they run now
from your wild dance.
in the moonlight you are wicked,
their nightmares are your metaphors,
the beasts of the night your audience.
for they know
you will not break,
you are a wild thing.
(This piece has been previously published on Teen Ink)
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