Bear Mask




There’s a page in

A graphic novel (Arkham Asylum)

Where they had Batman unconscious,

And they go to take his mask off,

So they can see his face,

Joker sneers and says

‘That is his real face.’


It is not a mask though,

An aspect, yes but it sat at the

Roots of my tree,

Waited for me to start digging

Into the dirt of my self,

Found him, fur clogged with dirt,

And helped him out.


Offering the gift of myself

As a generous act,

Holding you down,

Fucking the fragile savagery,

From you,

Until you are full,

With feeling and all.


The thoughts,

Fly away like birds heading to warmth,

And you get to feel the same thing,

Lying there.

Touching my mask,

My face,

The same eyes.


The fur is soft beneath your fingertips,

A delicious rasp against your neck.

Tall enough to make you feel little

But undiminished.

Draped across my chest, you talk

And I listen, even when you

Talk adorable nonsense in your sleep.



My actions are my roar

Loud in all the ways which matter,

Silent in the same ways too.

If this were just a mask,

You’d be someone I would let remove it,

See the man beneath, but he is not

He is through, within, intertwined.


Come closer, baby girl,

It is only wolves which

Bite strong yet tender women,

Daddy Bear wants the wild honey,

All your sweat and sweetness,

Cry into my chest,

I can bear it all.




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