“If you are alive, you are a leader.” ~Abby Wambach
This poem is based on my experiences with a distinct personality type. A certain breed of people, I envy & adore them. In Enneagram jargon, they are Type 8, or The Challenger. Almost certainly those who read this number, and are Challengers, will hate it. That’s ok. I am loyal to the truth more than to what anyone wants out of me (well, ideally). And, God, these beloveds need the challenge of truth.
Where there is a gap, they fill it with a bold intensity that resonates within me. Honestly, I feel most like them in their vulnerability and longing. That is something not everyone is brave enough to admit & explore. Cheers to The Challengers!
The Paradox Fox
slam doors, scream down their enemies, suck the blood of lubricious characters.
Foxes on craggy turf, one: politic as artfulness,
two: serve themselves freely the unpaid buffet, three: vomit
it back to the veteran victim.
Folks shudder at their dissonance: brash but
calculated. Unlike projections, they observe, lurk, these foxes of an
unaustentatious playfulness powerful
enough to tear the head of more than a squirrel.
They’re at the top of an inverted food chain gray wolves
beware, in your upended empire