Why You Bite by Claire Dale

I hold my younger self like a thrashing feral animal

–
In a tight and safe embrace.
She’s fighting back hard,
Baring her teeth;
I’m sure to her,
My arms feel like a cage.
I’m sure to her,
I’m the thing she hides from at night.
But her teeth and nails are blunt,
And small.
She’s worn them down scratching at herself
And biting her own tongue.
I don’t back down from her violent resistance,
The anger looks far too much like fear for me to
Take offense.
I know why she tears away from me,
Why she fears the way my arms hold her in.
Still,
The longer I hold her,
The more her muscles start to betray her by relaxing.
Her growls turn soft and curious.
It sounds far more like a whimper to my ears now.
She goes limp and exhausted in my embrace,
And I realize my muscles are starting to relax too.
“I’ve got you.”
I say.
“I know why you bite.”
The floor is hard and cold,
And it’s dark outside the kitchen windows.
My arms are red with the shape of my fingers
And my knuckles are white.
There is no animal in my arms,
Only my own skin.
“I don’t hate you.”
I whisper.
“I know why you bite.”