At a party, a gym,
anywhere the lighting is dim.
Along the shore, down in the subway,
during an overnight stay.
On Christmas morning,
by the fire where she's warming...

She is the hunted.

Amidst war, conflict, and revolution,
in the confessional during absolution.
For retribution or initiation,
after a movie premiere's celebration.
In the pool, the jacuzzi,
when drugged and woozy...

She is the hunted.

When did the female species
become a personal plaything?
An implicit right of lords, masters, and kings?
A gratification tool to sadists & seducers,
ego-fed athletes, even film producers?

She is the hunted...
in this cathedral of misogyny,
an unholy ground where hands
can never come clean.

At what age, Malusha, did your little boy
become a ******?

Dad was a blowhole,
Mom, a plankton feeder
Who never neglected the pod.

The hunters would come
In their little asinine ships,
Looking to stick our
Good sense with sharp points,
Harpooning us into believing
We'd be better off dead and used for fuel.

But Mom would read to us
Stories from books about high water,
And tip those boats right over.

Nothing dared swim in our wake on such nights,
She was queen to the waves,
Who in bows and curtsies,
Became her subjects.

Little did we know this long, arduous journey
Was driven not by kingdom, but by extinction...

looking in the old dusty mirror
whipping all the dust out
seeing my reflection
with scars tattooed on me.

staring at the old mirror
tears running down my cheeks
tracing my scars
remembering all the bad memories.

looking at the old mirror
seeing all the scars and burns
making me want to break my flection away
wanting to run and hide from the pain
old rusty mirror can you hide who i am?

seething venom dripping from the edges of my torn panting lips
i am familiar with its acidic taste and i lick it off my teeth
as though it were as sweet as the poisoned prose you fed to me
i am not a creature born of rage
but oh
if i did not thrive on the fact that i was so undeniably right
i
would
not
be
here

would i?


you know all too well that i would hunt down and bite the tongue from the man who did you wrong
but you would be terrified to know that i would watch his gurgling demise with triumph

do not misunderstand:

i would spit my prize and his blood into your gaping, screaming mouth
pin you down and tower over you
with my fangs bared so close to your throat
that i could nearly taste the heartbeat and the blood in your veins

drool spilling off of my chin and burning your skin
the smell of your singed flesh and your fear and my pride
just
like
the

r a b b i t

you
are.


i will forcibly eradicate the thought that i was too delicate from your mind--
you have been scared of me this entire time
too scared to drop me, to displease me
too scared to face the fact that i was a wolf living in a cracked eggshell
and that you took sick delight in pushing clay into crevasses that i was trying to escape from;

you held me like a sickly pup at arm’s length
not knowing what to do when i outgrew the cage you picked out for me
when the hackles started to bristle like goosebumps across my back
when hooded eyelids turned golden and


you should have been afraid of the fangs
that hid behind anxious words and knowing glances
instead of the stuttering and the overwhelmed mumbling;

you love monsters until
they
share
the
bed
with
you;


i am as quick to think as i am to wrap my hands around your throat;
i knew i knew i  k n e w
and you
ignored ignored i g n o r e d;


and now i weigh upon your ribcage
and you ***** the heart you tried to find upon your ***-stained shirt
regurgitated words never meant for me splashing onto my clawed fingertips


and i see nothing but my own mistakes reflected in your wide, unblinking eyes--
i forgot how beautiful my terrible form looked when i see it in the whites of someone’s eyes--
and what a shame i forgot for so long!

you never learned a thing,
did you?



you smell of **** and stink of many men’s claim on you
you have no regard for your own wellbeing
letting yourself get caught so painfully easily by any man holding lures of lustful pretty words

you give your heart to any man who promises to make you beg for more but
do you know how easy it would be to get you to beg
with a knife held to your throat?


if you want to die,
it will not be at my hands;
those  are to be soiled by my own sins and
not those of a

senseless

unthinking

r a b b i t.


you are unworthy of being my prey

Roar!
The sanctuary roars,
Some of its many beasts seem angry,
They all feel hungry.

Roar!!
The roar is sadder,
Some of the advanced beasts feel sad,
They all miss hunting.

Roar!
The roar is full of sorrow,
Some of its beasts can't contain the sorrow,
They all miss their families.