Everyone forgets that Fenris wolf grew up in chains,
feared by gods for being something
more than they could tame.
No-one ever asked him what he wanted.
War and death have been my chosen comrades in the dark,
But was it choice or just a logical conclusion?
When they already think you’re bringing Ragnarok,
You’re safer if you wear the wolfskin, play the part.
Everyone’s a story that somebody gets to tell,
A myth somebody makes.
We rarely get to make ourselves.
I sometimes wish you’d take from me
my half-remembered terrors, and technicolor pain,
hold me in the stillness, and softly say my name.
Go ahead. Ask me what it is.
I wouldn’t wish myself on anyone, yet here you are
Laying your tender wrist between my jaws
Trusting that I’ll let you keep your hand.
Aggressively accepting what I am,
With a frustrating patience that my scars don’t understand.
Why don’t you care that I’ll make you climb mountains
For every drop of grief I let you taste?
The wolf is just a story I let people tell about me
and I started to believe it.
No-one ever asked me what I wanted
And even if I told them, would they give it?
Call me Fenris and I’ll answer.
But it’s not my name.
Go ahead. Ask me what it is.
I want you to ask me.
I’m tired of the dark,
And it’s you who holds the light.
You, who wants my story
Told in verses I’ve composed
Written in my blood
in a book that I’ve kept closed.
You, offering your wrist and saying
Tell me.
So let me start
By telling you
My name.