Paper Tigers

I keep my paper tigers close to me
Anxiously pacing, illusory and untamed
Like the last remaining satyr in the world
Crumpled wads that are all bark and no maws
Gilded divertissements that tiptoe around
My real demons and the elephant in my room
Like my fear of getting chained to comfortable
When all I dream about is running as fast as I can

I’ve starved with ecstasy like a cracked beast
I’ve drunk from the chalice of Pan and Dionysus
I’ve thumbed the burnt scar of Her ripped umbilical cord
I’ve built temples in her euphony and clung to crow caw
I yearn for her embrace of juniper and pussypaws
I’ve felt a visceral connection to the call of the wild
This earth, this ocean, this air, this tragic silence
This body. This benevolence. This only wonder

I wish I could be like the others, muzzled
Domesticated, milksop no memory of free
Everyone is so sick but not with the virus
I see a pandemic of Stockholm Syndrome
Folks falling in love with their mobile cells
And elegant decorum of their zoo eyed, glass walls
Problem is that I have kissed the lips of the sky
I’ve feasted on her marrow and milk, I am her blue

Like when we were cubs nuzzled in pounce and purr
When by tooth and claw only the strong survived
Instead of calling an Uber for Taco Bell drive thru
My claws stained regret from suicide by paper cuts
And from folding my demons into origami butterflies
Praying one of them zags free past the catcher’s net
And takes a hold of the frayed ends sailing into the sun
Unraveling the scarecrow of man and burning it down


Words By Cara Feral
Image: From Istock by Getty Images