Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Cats

I do not exist to be looked at,

or dreamed about.

I exist to be cowered from,

because I am a nightmare, now.

Maybe, once upon a time, I had the time to be something else,

but now, it is too late,

I have been looked at too long,

leered at,

shouted at,

and now,

I slink behind the sleeping eyes of the dastardly, to destroy them.

They didn’t leave me with a choice,

stalking our streets,

silencing our socialised, meek little cries,

and so now,

we have no choice but to join them on the cold concrete,

to let our lungs take up the space we have always been denied,

to paint our cheeks with the only blood, not born of violence,

and be the monsters they pushed us to be.

The cats of the neighbourhood circle around us,

hissing and snarling at anyone who steps our way,

and this night can only rest when the revolution begins.

Maybe,

she just snapped.

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