Crying Wolf: a poem

Until I was twelve,
I insisted that I was a wolf.
It was only one facet of my
Debilitating social awkwardness,
But it's the one that keeps me up at night
Lately.
Lately,
I've been thinking about
Whether or not it's all that bad to die alone,
Or die at all
(Or die right now, but that's a scary tangent).

Wolves are fascinating
Because wolves travel in packs
-- In tight-knit families,
Fiercely loyal to one another,
Nurturing their wounded,
Willing to go down defending their pack mates.
And yet,
Despite this natural closeness,
Occasionally a wolf will arise,
An unhappy Omega,
A hopeless outcast,
A restless wanderer,
Who will tear themself away from the group
And go on their way
Alone.

I don't sleep well at night
Lately.
Lately,
I've been thinking about
The feeling of hands on my skin,
Fingers caressing my face, my neck,
Warm breath on my cheek.
Instead,
I curl myself around a pillow,
Kiss my own shoulder,
Tuck my own hair behind my own ear,
Press myself up into the corner of the room
And pretend to be held
As I try to fall asleep.

When I was a child,
I never imagined myself as
The Alpha.
Back then,
I didn't think it was possible to
Be anything other than
Placating,
Pleasing,
Practicing my apologies in front of a mirror
-- An Omega.
But now
My feet itch to leave.
This pack is not my own.
This cave is not my home.

I've been looking at plane tickets
Lately.
Lately,
I've been howling at the moon,
Pleading for answers,
Or directions.
"Where are the others?"
"Where is my pack?"
But the moon is a silent guardian
And rarely howls back.

My paws bleed a lot
Lately.
Lately,
I've worn my claws down
Digging in the earth,
Searching for bones
For remnants
For proof that other wolves like me
Have been here.
My hands are sore
From being clasped in prayer too tightly.

I've heard the howls of another wolf
Lately.
Lately,
I've played his howling over in my head
To lull myself to sleep.
I wonder where he is,
If he belongs to another pack already.
He sounds so lonely.
But I don't have the voice
Or the right words
To howl back to him.

The sun is too hot
And my fur too long.
I need to find water.
Where did the trees go?
Why is the earth so dry here?

I burrow under the sheets like a cave
Lately.
Lately,
I don't look both ways
Before crossing the street.
It's gotten easier to pretend
To be happy here,
But at night,
As the moon crests above the trees,
I begin to bristle at my surroundings.
I am the restless wolf,
The tired wolf,
The crying wolf,
The lone (so, so alone) wolf.

I'm better at playing the part
Lately.
Lately,
I'm content with cold sheets
And loveless pillows
But loneliness is an awkward bedfellow.