Ugly words

like the wailing of a wolf

spill over the glass

as if a drunken bartender

were to continue pouring

despite the desperate protests

of a victim drowning

in the storm of an unnatural passion

that drives the frantic paws

the hungry clawing

digging for something to devour

and after

as the winds of lust

are fading

with the shell

lying on that soiled bed

only the wolf remains standing

tall with power

as the pictures of this predator

are shoved away

into a dark closet in her mind

where ghosts of trauma wander

those twisted words

remain, haunting

all those huddled alone

in the corner at the party

all those forgotten in the alley

all those starving themselves for a better body

but still, desperately hungry

to find identity

when the truth is, what these animals say may be ugly

but that can never change your true beauty

what they do may be lustful, hateful

but that can never change the truth that you are lovely…