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"There was a feral cat today at school" my sister said at the dinner table
She told us about how animal control was called and how the boys rumored the cat would get shot- how they laughed
I dropped a piece of shrimp under the table and felt our house-cat Lorraine's tail draw figure eights around my ankles
Unable to think of anything other than the countless times I'd felt feral too
Too rough around the edges, "unable to be controlled" in the words of my mother
With distain
Her domesticated laughs and unnecessary remarks
I decided to go out after dessert
Just to wander in the park
Like a vagabond no one wanted me to be
The trees rustled behind me
If I turned around
I hoped I'd see my sister's beast from today
But I didn't stop to take the time
Liam C Calhoun Jul 2016
Tapping scabs smolder my face; predictable
And prophecy, like owning a, “dead man’s hand,”
Parallel the pistol at your back.
It all began when the pen’s been dropped,
Somewhere untouchable; beyond claw,
Sooner the excuse as I’d long forgotten, “run.”
When drink’s not enough and, “escape’s,” the
Only to embrace oblivion, so it is and
So wrought, a solid right-hook.

Executed in pandemonium and
Scrambled eggs upstairs,
I scratch a different sort of stubborn
Come a morning in between graffiti,
An anxiety born an impatience for an already evening
And, “newborn,” as I look for the
Baby’s skin beneath battered lash;
But I’d killed that boy long ago.

It’s when I find the green in between cracks,
Concrete pervades and poisoned memories of mother,
Return; they’re scratched upon the stone,
Carved under cheek, knotted in lumber and heart.
I’ve hammered the point upon slab
And before and before and after;
Indenting the first letter to my name, remember me,
Whilst continuing to procure this numb
Nearing necropolis.

The fight’s last night, but the blister’s
Every day, every hour and every minute;
Eternity, as I trace my cheek with *******,
Once with a ring, and the other
A broken knuckle, swollen in a
Twenty-second attempt to never let go;
One more second or so and so,
Ticking, “21,” I fold, letting ropes conjure false hope
And only after the hands have grown frigid.

So much the longer after my heart had
And so much the better.
Lauren R Jun 2016
You wash the bubbles of your skin down the drain every night, scraping with a facecloth, hoping to cleanse the ugly from yourself; the putrid stench of your muscles beneath every mistake you've breathed or uttered into this Earth's air. You lick your wounds.
                                                     Bone fracture
You run your fingertips across the bridge of her nose, down to her chin, tip her head  up to meet your hungry eyes, good dog. Now, roll over, show me where your heart is. When she resists, when she bites, your hands don't work like human's do.
­                                                    without
     ­                                               overflow

Your brain meets another that you read to be feral. Fear, for a moment. Fear, buried under something like happiness. (Insanity) You lick your lips, starving. She can taste your teeth. She can taste the raw meat you have pulled from every past lover. The blood in your drool when you sleep, the sharpness in your stare, the way you mumble sweet nothings, she's known beasts like you.
                                                    Someone like
                                                    you, comfort for a

You'­re just rough around the edges, you tell her. The world tells you to beat your mutt brain to death. You tell yourself that it's just the phase of the moon. The tides move your blood. The tides pull your ancient mind, tug on the sleeve of your consciousness.
                                                    Living like a car

­You **** what you don't need. You don't eat what you ****. You don't know what you ****. You don't know where your hands have landed, which throats they have crushed. You will drag your claws across the cold skin, watch it wrinkle and rip, no blood moving; cold, congealed.
                                                    Dead kittens in  
                                                     the air vents

You share the rage of something forgotten by time. Something with blood boiling and eyes like hawks, wings of angels, burning brightly against the backdrop of night.
                                                    The smell of

People try to care. They try to wrap their tongues around your ideas and around your ankles. They try to cry the same tears you do. They try to touch the sky and earth like you do. But they never will. No one gets you. No one can move you.
                                                    Your mother's

Curled under the wheels of cars, spit out onto the side of the highway. Cooking in the sun, roadkill is no fun if you don't like to play with your food. The semi trucks barrel by. You feel the gentle shove towards their snouts, their mashing teeth, their twitching tongues, slick with the inside of your bones.
                                                    The way you
                                                     haven't cried in
                                                     years, you say

You meet a girl. You eat her whole. You meet a soulmate. You eat her whole. You shake in your mother's arms. You eat her whole. You look in the mirror. You eat her whole. You visit a therapist. You eat her whole. You see God. You eat her whole.
                                                    Holes in dry

Your lips don't twist anymore. Your heart doesn't twitch anymore, dead animal. The wind doesn't call to you anymore. You wonder where your mind went, where you left it, in which forest, under which overpass.
You­ feel the world shift against you, all eyes on you, knowing what you've done. Where you've been. Who you are.
                                                        And calling
You saw off the barrels of guns.
                                                             *And calling
A need for human closeness results in cannibalistic extremes
Julie Grenness Jun 2016
Yo, Earth, this is Australia calling,
Oz has decided to stop stalling,
We have finally sent you our bless,
We've agreed to share our feral pets,
Yes, it's time at last Oz did its share,
Feral gift pet sets from Australia fair,
First, to enable total world peace,
We're mailing crocodiles to the Middle East,
You know, "Never smile at a crocodile,"
They'll eat your ISIS guns with a toothy smile,
Next, we'll donate Red Back spiders,
Look out militants, they'll sit down  beside yer!
Our third gift is some great white sharks,
All programmed for Peace in their hearts,
Finally, funnel web spiders and Taipans,
We're sharing our pets with hostile lands,
All your wars shall be a failure,
Peace on Earth, from Aussies in Australia!
traces of being Jan 2016
there remains a stirring pang
churning around within

a soothing ache invigorates
an insatiable, yet suppressed ,
untamed appetite

a gnawing hunger craving
never curbed ,
abiding a leaching aloneness
that piercingly tingles inwardly

veritably suppressed fever
burns out of control
like a tameless wildfire ;
flames fanned
by the feral forces of nature

an intimately passionate


*© wild is the wind
SøułSurvivør Sep 2015

feral kittens chase about
up trees they run and play
leaving off their hunting
at the dawning of the day

born benieth a neighbor's house
as wild as a bird
just as free, you can see
but they are never heard

just weened they are still playful
as kittens always are
but they have just begun to roam
they will not go far

oops! the pair have seen me
as i sit and pray
crouched down low...
off they GO!
the babes have run away!

:) soulsurvivor
(C) 9/16/2015
an absolutely beautiful pair
of feral kitties brightened
my morning!

still in a lot of pain due to
a lymphatic detox
but i want to read today!
Savanna Noelle Aug 2015
Roaming through the twisted trunks
Of the jungle trees
High on the mist laden mountain,
Rustling in the undergrowth,
Searching for Life's bounty
In the dry, rusted dirt,
Chipping away at the mystery
Of your land,
Feral and free
This poem is far too beautiful and thoughtful for the miserable wretches it describes. I recently visited Kaui, one of the infamous islands of Hawaii, and lo and behold, CHICKENS. There were friggin' chickens everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I nicknamed the feathery population The Great Mountain/Jungle Chickens of Kaui. My friend bet me I couldn't make some of the most disgusting birds in existence sound majestic, so I was obligated to write this poem.
Wednesday Aug 2015
You found out I called you crazy,
but to be fair you were the same man who
stabbed himself on purpose and
picked at wounds just to see how well the scars held up
under your knife.

The same man who woke up with bruises for hands and
bourbon for breath.

You always slept with your eyes open,
glazed over like a snake ready to strike.
You said this was from spending 19 years locked in a cage
like a feral animal.
I see that didn't teach you anything.
Some beings can never be rehabilitated;
they should have never released you back into the wild.

You picked roses because they reminded you of your dead mother
and once you made me talk to her ashes
and afterwards you threw me on your pool table
and made a mess of me.

You said it was for your memory,
I used it for my art.

You would cut me up for fun and stalk me for pleasure.
You say bourbon and *** makes you feel real again.
You would always tell me I was too pretty for you and
we would laugh along to gory movies until our eyes half closed in drunken lust and all I wanted to do was drink from you.

You would lock your door and turn on the fairy lights
and touch me real slow and hard until I became cold from the
beating of your heart next to mine.

You always said you were going to leave,
I never thought you'd just disappear
and still be 5 minutes away from me.

You are a ghost that I wish would haunt me a little more often
because I am reduced to ashes now just like your cremated mother.

You turned me rabid and mean.

You never told me how to make this stop.
I just keep bleeding from the wounds you left.

You turned me into the same animal you are.
farron May 2015
and that's when i realized,

you will not come home to me, you never could.

i am not soft or flexible, i am all sharp teeth and rough tongue.
i am more carnage than compassion.
my jaw clenches to show i could be nothing but cruel, never will be kind.

and who wants to call a wild beast theirs?
the fairytales never end that way.
Samantha Dunlap Nov 2014
Like lightning
You dance in the darkness
Spreading yourself in all directions
It's hard for me to elude you

I'm captivated
Robbed of my soul
I serve you my blood dripping heart
On a plate made of star fire

I'm sure you have a whole collection
All propped up on dusty shelves
shriveled and dried up
lifeless little beasts

I wonder
Do you ever take them down
And think about the broken rib cages
About the intercostal spaces
Where you pressed your fingers deep

Do you think about the moon
And the stars during the gloaming hours
About the time the night sky covered
all our sins like a blanket

You can't hide from me
I saw your hollow face the night you
hijacked my soul

You ripped into me like a ravenous hyena
Laughing, laughing, laughing
As you left me there to rot.
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