The words of people have this cruel effect of getting under our skin,
applied on the outside they are allowed to soak through.
With the power to both heal and hurt they race through our blood,
the potency of the daggers tearing holes at our very being,
and the silence emptying our soul.
The other day at work I was called a “tasteless dog”.
I defended myself with nursery rhymes,
pretending like I could hide under my covers and be safe.
But the effect of this protection decreases with age,
and I am left alone.
The words like tiny arrows pricking at my identity.
I didn’t believe him, but the words still took root.
I’m no better than the junkyard beasts,
than the creatures that roam the woods late at night.
they scavenge for any morsel that will fill their emptiness,
I am also in want, I am craving.
There should be a sign that warns of my torment.
it would read “beware of dog”
for I am that, I am merciless in my gifting of pain.
no one is safe from the bared teeth and sharpened claws.
I’m waiting to make my next meal of a trespasser.
I am to be feared.
With floppy ears and sad brown eyes,
fools reach through the fence to pet me.
their love is for naught.
My fur is too matted for me to feel their affection,
and they do not realize what they are touching.
I am not what I seem.
I must warn you not to be careless,
and pet the strange creatures you find in the street.
your mother warned you for a reason.
Please just leave before you get bit.
I don’t want to deceive you,
but a hungry dog is not innocent and defenseless,
she is dangerous.