Jumping up is not allowed,
Disobedience in your eyes,
A look in you is strangely proud,
My discontent, a coveted prize.
Your playful nibbles begin to sting,
Flashes of something worse than fun,
The tips of your teeth drag and cling,
A pouncing, growling, hit and run.
Stop, you’re really hurting me,
Claws now scratching, piercing skin,
Why can’t you just let me be?
The wounds, your act of crimson sin.
From your last attack, I’m trying to heal,
My skin bruised purple, spattered in red,
Sometimes wishing that I couldn’t feel,
Each interaction filled with dread.
On a day where all feels calm,
Knowing you only lay in wait,
Suddenly hit by a sense of alarm,
Creating a tattered mental state.
You’re making me feel agitated,
Nursing wounds and covered in scars,
In this prison, now more isolated,
Your teeth are bloody, ivory bars.
Feeding on my desperate tears,
With every drop, you grow in power,
Your strength, one of my greatest fears,
The slightest growl, making me cower.
The time has come for things to change,
I reach to grab your slackened lead,
My mind, you will no longer derange,
From your jaws I shall be freed.
Standing tall, I’m ready to train,
Lay. Sit. My commands you will obey,
Ready to heal psychological pain,
I am your master, no longer your prey.
By Paul Webster