They called me rabbit
When I took their punches and their venom.
Felt blood well around my eye, all internal.
Learned that I am made of neither fists nor knives.
Learned cowardice tastes more bitter than fear.

They called me wolf
When I put on the belt and turned my hands into killing things
Felt the bones in my foot crack.
Learned to pull my kicks.
Learned my hands can be considered a deadly weapon.

They called me rabbit
When my voice shook, cracked, crumbled.
Felt something inside me like rage or fear.
Learned shame in the back of my throat.
Learned every song must end.

They called me wolf
When I stole the mic and learned to sing from my chest.
Felt something in me soar.
Learned I am more than their laughter.
Learned my soul is music.

They called me rabbit
When the called me Girl.
Felt my soul squirm at how wrong the frame was.
Learned Girl was weak.
Learned Girl was tears and limp wrists, fear and failure.

They called me wolf
When they called me Boy.
Felt sun shine through straight teeth.
Learned I am still the things they call Girl.
Learned Girl made me a stronger Boy.

Learned I am the rabbit
Learned I am the wolf.
Learned that strength is born of weakness,
I am born from myself.