The girl is a god with wolves in her chest
While she catches boys in her hair like birds.
Her flesh speaks the lore of a martyr in disguise
But she is no stone-skinned warrior.
She is water born and earth made
Like the pale peaks of waves
whose tongues lap at the fire.
She reaches towards the sky
Hoping to warm her hands
All she finds is her own breath carved into air.
The girl is not a god, she is a hero
With birds nesting in her chest
While wolves braid her hair.