i still feel too loud even for just my claws clicking on wood floor when i walk.
you make me feel…
wary in the way a wild animal is, on edge, skin prickling, something wrong in the slant of my gait,
nervous. still. i don’t understand who i am half the time with you. it’s not as bad anymore, at least, i don’t think. i don’t know. i have trouble recalling… good dogs don’t bite. good dogs don’t bite but i can’t handle not biting you. i don’t know how to growl first. everything i’ve learned is how to slink backwards peaceably (sit. lay. wait. stay.) and how to sink my teeth in hard enough to prove i can hurt. being your dog- i don’t feel proud to stand next to you like that. i feel cowed. muzzled. ears pinned and eyes darting, a whine in the throat held quiet like a bird held still under a hand. little heart slamming against its ribcage. silent so it doesn’t cause a fuss. still so you pass over my body, thinking me dead. i dont mind your reckless hands when they aren’t angling for my throat. i demand too much, already.
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