A bit more honest

My memory resembles
a finely crafted needlepoint lace
hole after hole,
a pattern appears that
i somehow fail to retrace.
So many faces, places
lost in the labyrinth
of my mind
that I shall
never find.

But then
there are times
when the nights are long, and
the moon misleading,
I forget the things that I forgot
and the healed wounds
open and start bleeding.
Strangely familiar names,
children playing games,
words someone
once said
come to
haunt me
from the dead.

my memory fails me in every way.

Long time ago
when i was a child,
faced with a wrathful
wolf pack,
i learned the best way
to deal with the intimidators
is to intimidate them
right back.
Ever since
my beast has been
proudly on display
for everyone to see,
she takes care of me.

But more often than not
she keeps away
all good things
that come my way.
She sees no difference
between a friend and a foe,
she doesn’t care
which way the winds blow.
And what’s worse
she’d never let anyone
close enough to see
the scared,
lonely child
that’s hiding
inside of me.