As we have all just celebrated the 20th anniversary of everyone’s favourite magical series,
Harry Potter, here is a poem I wrote in my second year of university about my
favourite werewolf, Remus Lupin.
Mine or Theirs
You don’t belong to me
so why do I think you do?
You are only words in a
script, so why do I feel
like I know you?
You are a fragment of someone
else’s imagination, but
gradually your plot has been
written into my life.
It has become my own.
Why does your family feel like my own?
When they don’t even know I exist.
They aren’t eternal. They can be killed off whenever
their creator desires. So why am I bound
to something so perishable?
I never imagined I’d feel sympathetic
towards a werewolf, until I found out
how it kills you every full moon. How
you avoid your friends in fear of
what you could do to them.
You represent a leader, a guardian,
a dreamer. You feel held back by
your inner struggle but you manage
the madness by focusing on being
a teacher, a father.
I’ll never understand the relationship
I have with you, this unrequited
love. But maybe it’s unavoidable,
this ache we endure, solely for
a well written character.