Safer With The Wolves. Poem by MIRAK Montiel

She Was Safer with Wolves

She ran to the forest,
barefoot, bloodied—
a ghost fleeing the fire she was born in.
The trees did not ask questions.
The beasts did not judge.
They simply let her breathe.

But peace is a fragile illusion.
Even paradise rots from within.
And though her lips formed smiles,
her soul was a cracked mirror,
shattered quietly behind her eyes.

She lied to the mirror—
said she was healing.
But the forest knew better.
She spilled her truth beneath the canopy,
bleeding secrets into the soil.

Every night,
she whispered broken prayers
to indifferent stars.
And the same hands that once fed her
now sank teeth into her heart,
slowly, sweetly—like they meant to love her
while tearing her apart.

I don't know how much longer
she can fake being whole.
But I pray the forest remembers her name,
that the shadows will open their arms,
and swallow her before the world does.

Because she was safer
with wolves
than with the people who said they cared.