Wild Thing

You see of me what I want.
Little beast of camoflague,
dark of pelt and sleek as rain.
Forest-eyes that peer
through branches of distrust,
wary, curious, silent.
What words flow out of me,
soft and silent as sighs
on the breath of need.
I dip my head to
the cool drink of knowledge,
draw deep and within.
My back arches against the sun,
my voice a cry to the moon,
my hands and feet
so very lightly step,
wild beast-woman caged within.
I cry against the chains,
tear at the bars,
growl and whine and howl
for lack of my own wild woods,
now culled, now tamed.
Bite the hand that feeds me,
struggle to run free.
Little wild one biting back,
tearing back a piece of me.

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