I Bite

I bite the hands that feed me.
Rough and callous, sharp-edged, and just waiting for a reason to go off the rails.
I am mean and I am vicious
I don’t play fetch when you ask, and I certainly won’t wait for you.

I bite.

Baring my teeth as you only try to get closer, but then I lunge and you yelp and jump back in fear.
Why act surprised? Didn’t I warn you? I am not your pet, not your dog; you won’t tame me or control me.

I bite.

Even as the blood trickles from your hand and down your wrist, you’re still here.
Sitting next to me with your head tilted to the side like a confused dog.
You reach out again. I let you pet me behind the ears–
The sensation of physical touch makes my whole body tense up

I bite.

Fear clenches in my chest, a lump in my throat
I lunge once more
Scratching at your face
Nipping at your arm.

The violence I show is to stay protected.
You may think I like to bite and fight,
But really, I’m not a violent dog; I don’t know why I bite.

I bite.