I’ve been told, my whole life, to use my inside voice, walk softly (but not that softly it’s creepy), to sit there, not like that, what were you raised in a barn? Don’t do that it’s weird.
I’ve been told to make myself small, to not want, to not hunger. I need to behave and live in polite society. That I need to be declawed and docile to fit in. And I tried. Fuck how I tried.
The reality is, I am not docile.
I am wild and feral. I am human and I am hunger, I am hunter and hunted. I am curling up in my den for warmth and I am running in all fours. I am teeth and talon and jaw and claw.
I am not docile.
I will not be put in a cage or zoo, I will not sit, roll over, play dead. I will not be quiet and small for your comfort, I will not be passive and pleasant for your amusement. I will be myself the way any animal is, without reservation or shame. I will not kneel and beg for treats, and I will love not because I was made to, but because I chose to.
In spite of the world’s best efforts, I still have my claws.
