My life is like an ugly street mutt.
Constantly running, fleeing
Biting at the hand that gives
Showing sharp teeth, unintentionally so.
Only with those who provoke me though.  
Ugly street mutts can be kind too.
We snuggle at the feet of strangers,
Lapping up any kindness left to give.

An ugly street mutt, that is my life.
But I did not choose it all for myself, no
I am pet and loved,
But thrown by the neck at a wrong move.
How may I serve today?
We bark and growl,
And we whimper and cry.

An ugly street mutt. That is what they called me.
I run and I walk.
We steal and we plead.
We are loved and shoo’d.
Hated, even.
But we are mutts.
Dogs.
We wait at the door for you,
I wait
At that door,
For you.