self love

Tiger soul

At 17,I read of bright topaz tigers of aunt Jenifer.
The creatures pranced across the screen with chivalric certainty,I was told that this opposes what aunt really was,weak and timid.
At 3,I remember being told about the fierce being with dark stripes and claws sharp enough to chisel the hard of hardest.
Dad always managed to scare me to the core of my existence with his roaring mimic whenever I hid in the backyard bushes, playing hide and seek.
I never liked tigers. They have been a part of my nightmares just like incubus and vampires, for years.
I was told, not to like tigers. That they are harmful and that young women are to love prince with white horse and pearly smile. That women and tigers can’t be stringed in a line together and that they are inverses.
But at 19, I know,unlike aunt Jenifer my insides are very much tiger-like.
Yes I am soft,but not timid. I struggle with needle yet my fluttering fingers spill my heart out. Those olive eyes of green denizen drench hopes of love. He shed hair like my heart shed insecurities. He roar like my heart howl against injustice. I create art out of me and not of my fantasises.
And now I know that pearly smiles are illusions,so I look for sharp teeth and olive eyes just like that of tigers.
I am my own muse. I will be remembered for what I am,a tiger soul.


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