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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2063357
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Pets · #2063357
Who's a good boy?
The people took wild beasts and shaped them into accessories. To some they are a comfort, a thing to cuddle, to care care for, a teddy bear that responds. These pets, their love is dependency, you the owner are the master over their survival. You, the bringer of food and water, of shelter and medicine. You, the dictator of right and wrong. Look at those wild beasts, they are so cute when they are small. I must have one, let us make them small always, so we can store them in our houses, show them to our neighbors, beat them so they don’t beat us, and teach them to beat others. That flying thing is pretty too, I want that, already a good size, put it in this cage so I can observe it each day. I’ll take it’s young and cage them too and they will grow never knowing what it is to fly. The cage will be their reality, it will go next to the painting in the living room, and the urn of my dead father. Such wondrous beauty is mine, I own it so all can see it belongs to me and so I can see it all for myself, I love how it makes me feel.
I am an addict of cruelty. To suck the wild out of a creature, to take it’s very essence of being is my greatest hit and I score everyday. My dog, my cat, my bird, my lizard, my snake, my rat, my mouse, my spider, my fish, my rabbit, my hamster, my woman, my man. The wild beast I have captured because someone has captured mine, I live in a larger cage, my collar is attached to a larger chain, to masters who have taught me right from wrong. They are the masters of my survival, the bringers of food and water, of shelter and medicine, to which I must please them for. I am the domesticated human, born into the cage, it is all I know, I do not know what it is to fly.
© Copyright 2015 Harley Wanders (harley_wanders at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2063357