A Lone Wolf

A Lone Wolf

I don’t enjoy being told
how I should think.
As though my thoughts were offset
to someone else’s patterns.
I am a lone wolf.
I prefer to think my own thoughts.
I prefer to be myself
and not consider how I
should fit into the box.
Corners frighten the hell out of me!
I am much more prone to
hug the curved spaces.
The round places
where the tumbleweeds
rise up and blow
over the lonely road.
I am predisposed
to love the cob-webby path
where no one else will go.
I can’t sit in the squareness
of the pleather upholstered fairness.
I will fidget
like a toddler picking their nose
in preschool.
My soul needs to dance
at exactly the time society says “no”,
then laugh inappropriately.
Whoop loudly in the cubicled silence,
then run mockingly into the forest
that most are unable to see.
Hiding in the decibels
between the green and
mossy stump
covered trees.
That’s where I’ll be.
The lone wolf conversing
with the honeysuckle,
Morel buckles and bees.