I used to think truth stood still, waiting to be named but I it bends, quietly, depending on who is looking

the grass calls the deer a monster without hesitation, yet praises the lion as if teeth could be mercy for removing the deer

in my previous home, I learned the language of shifting shapes, where her reflection filled every mirror, leaving no mirror for me

She spoke and yet speaks as though gravity itself answers to her and I orbit, not out of love, but survival

to her , I am the storm, the fault, the endless wrong turn to myself, I am the field trying to remain whole

even as something feeds on me and calls it natural and somewhere beyond us, the lion waits, misunderstood