There is a wolf hidden within you,

but you hide her well.


When you were a child,

tenderhearted and soft,

you watched them slaughter your sister

with their silver bullets and stakes.

Terrified they would do the same to you,

you shackled your wild spirit

and ignored the call of the moon.

Now you smile at the hunters

and scorn the proud wolf-women you meet—

because living this lie

is better than meeting your end

at the burn of silver.




you know you are fooling yourself.

You know it every month,

when the moon glows bright among the stars.

You know it when you hear your sisters' songs

and your chest aches with the need to join in.

You know it when the sun kisses your skin;

when you see the sharp smiles of proud wolf-spirits.


But you tell yourself that

even if you could let go of your fears and insecurities,

the wolf-women you have scorned would surely want

nothing to do with you.

(You know it is a lie;

you remember that much from your sisters.

They would accept you with open arms,

as they do all of the lost.)


You are a wild thing.

You are meant to roam free beneath the stars

and sing haunting refrains to the moon.



there are those who would hunt you,

who would try to leash and shackle you;

who would "tame" you, as if you are theirs to command.

There are even those who might try to kill the wild spirit you house.


But fighting them;

standing in solidarity with your sisters—

surely that would be better than this.

Surely that would be better than fighting your every instinct—

than fighting yourself,

when all you long for is

the night

and sisterhood

and the cool embrace of the moon.


Perhaps you can even convince others—

wolf-women who have never known what they were;

hunters who do not understand why,

who do not want this to be the way things are—

to look beyond the sharp teeth,

and the claws.

To see the way your pelt shines in the moonlight;

the way the wind ruffles your fur.

The shining colors that make up a pack under the moon.

Maybe you can convince them to truly hear

the haunting melodies you sing.


If they could,

they would know what you have known all along—

even if you have denied it to yourself.


The wolf-women,

the huntresses,

the proud wild ones

are beauty incarnate.

They are the moon's favored children,

wild and free beneath her light.

Mother Nature guards them;

the sun shines brighter against their skin.


They are wild

and free

and unafraid.