over my body - as home. but it was not really
the right animal for me since i could not move
as slow as something that slides over the earth
in peace. i was more like an animal freed after
being caged since birth. i had to run, to escape
always to the nether depths of streets. even
street cats have some garbage can they form
bonds with. so i became an angry wolf, a lone
traveler through the rough terrain of shame,
a mistake that had cut a scar on my cheek
and left it there for good. what good is an animal
with no backbone. maybe i could be a crab
and satisfy myself by pinching every living thing
crossing my path. or retreat inside my shell
when impossible to fight back or flee. what if
i was not an animal but a tree
that some majestic bird once planted
on top of a high peak. somewhere above the clouds
with only rocks for company. a solitary tree.
forsaken. and my roots would reach no other
root for food, for water, for memory.
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