December

My dad died the day after Christmas, December 26th. He was more beast than man, more beast than me, or maybe that's what I like to think.

In reality his teeth never drew blood, no that isn't true. I cannot lie and say his mouth was not stained that rusty color. 

His teeth never broke my skin, but I remember his hot breath against my scruff. A threat, a warning, a promise, to correct me, not to harm.

I knew his teeth well. I knew what was expect from me. I knew what he thought. 

I am a beast. I bark with his voice. I stand in his image. I lower my head for him. 

December.

Is cold, is no different to any other month, yet here I am growling at the moon. Not for taking my dad, but taking the beast. 

I can live without the man, but I cannot live without his teeth. 

I don't like collars. I don't like muzzles. This leash is far too short and my muscles are atrophied.

My mother never really learned how to handle a beast. With her sharp words and crude commands. 

I cannot blame her, she is my mother, maybe it is his fault for never helping us connect, maybe hers for never having the patience.

Pups nip. We teeth. My fangs were perhaps too sharp, maybe that is why she has filed them down for me.

I will never feel those teeth again, but they weigh heavy on my skin. 

The moon does not bite but cries because she cannot help me, she cannot cure me of my persistent sadness turned anger, hate, and fear. She cries because I am not only beast but man and I've never learned how to exist as either.