By what miracle did you end up here, wolf-girl?

By what miracle did you end up here, wolf-girl?
I found your skin on the porch.
Suffering is still dripping from your wounds.
Your body still smells like captivity.

Have you ever considered staying
where the world can’t touch you?
Too eager to be seen,
too wild for people to talk about you.

You danced naked before their gazes.
Never eat from their hands again.
And I will heal your wounds,
the balm will be this insatiable need
to transform the demise of your body
into a mystery
surrounded by your presence
before their urges to hurt you.

They thought you were going to be an authentic trophy,
alternative prey,
for your fur is of fear and trembling,
your claws fought legendary battles,
your eyes have seen everything that people are not.
And they wanted to be more than people.
They couldn’t.
Not like you.
You protected everything you love.

But you’re more of a personal victim,
stain on your bed,
inconvenient infection
which entered the people who wanted to
become more than the flesh that defines them.

Whatever they make of you,
you will survive.
Whatever you want, you will be,
just get well,
You can do it.
With expiration date,
but eternally present,
a wolf fighting a flock of eagles,
predators, all of them,
they only want to tear you to pieces.

But as I watch you on my floor,
I only see a girl who learned too soon
that being an animal sometimes means protecting your home,
and to be only a human means to let be taken by predators.

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