I was raised snarling and filthy,

How was I supposed to differentiate
the hand that beats
from the hand that feeds?

I read once
that these glistening ivories
set into these rotting, receding gums
aren't just pretty pearly things-

that they froth
and snap
and ache
for a reason.

So forgive me
if my teeth find a home amongst
fat and
flesh and
veins and
bone and
blood
When you offer out your hand to me-

That's just the way I was raised.

The asphalt is a kindless God to follow,
yet here I am:
Knees torn and scarred,
bleeding and blindingly free.