Member Poem

It’s human nature, they say—

To love, to break, to rot inside.

We are cattle in the pen,

Branded by the ones who touch us,

Led to slaughter by hands we trust.

So tell me, with those aching hands,

What do you feel beneath my skin?

Do you feel the rawness of my flesh,

The tremble in my bones

As I cry and crumble,

A lamb too weak to stand?

I remember running,

Like prey fleeing the butcher’s blade,

My breath shallow, my heart pounding,

Only to find the pen again.

I remember laughter—

A fragile bubble that popped too soon,

Bloodied by the sharp edge of reality.
Waves of calm don’t last.

They twist into storms.

You speak, and your words ignite,

Cutting me open like a dull knife.

My eyes burn, my mouth spits venom.

Words I don’t mean tumble out,

But I’m powerless.

My strings are pulled,

And I dance,

A carcass jerking in the hands of my emotions.

I sway—

A lamb dragged through the mud,

Skinned by love,

Split open by obsession.

The meat of me laid bare,

Still trembling.
And yet, through the rawness of it all—
I’m still just a lamb lost in the field.