Show me your fangs;
Others see the crooked maw of gnashing teeth and flee, but I know better-
Sharpened on your own bones
From desperation
Tearing your own meat away
To keep yourself fed.
They aren't fangs of mal-intent,
They're but for show and survival.
Show me your claws;
Twisted fingers with serrated edges, others have run in terror, but I know better-
You've been clinging to so many ledges,
And if you must
Digging your way into the earth to hide,
Feeling more safety in the jagged, dank earth.
Those claws are not dangerous,
They're but for show and survival.
Show me your wild eyes;
The hum of quiet rage below them would shake a normal man to his core, but I know better-
The anger that seethes is for others,
You wish not harm on anyone who hurt you
But instead on those who hurt whom you hold dear,
Angry to see anyone go through even a fraction,
Of what you had to.
Those wild eyes are not out to get anyone else,
They are but for show and survival.
You are no monster.
You are just misunderstood.
And if you're a monster in your eyes,
Let me be a monster too;
I'd love to be monsters with you.
YOU ARE READING
poetry
PoetryI may seem like an insufferable nerd-tastic idiot, but I'm actually pretty poetic
