Oh,
don't look up.
Don't stare.

She's at the top,
and I'm terrified,
for how could there ever have been
such a predator.

So thin and furious,
paper skin pulled taunt over blunt bones,
lips bared from small, sharp teeth
and I can't I can't look:

Hip jutting out and if she moves
(shifts to pounce),
Her paper skin will fray away,
unravel to reveal ribs and sternum and
fear.

She is wounded, unforgiving, but
I know better.
No one fights a lioness;
you can't scare what's scary.

Can't tame a beast,
Can't sweeten it with treats
and gentle words.
Clever monsters, they wait
until they can come close enough
to rend soft skin, crush limbs
and lives.

She knows the law of the fittest,
the rage of pride scorned;
She knows hunger.
Clawing her way up that mountain,
she is a beauty once pressed
onto laminated pages, pasted to pink walls
and worshipped with fasts.

But, now,
that beauty is disdained.
Left alone, her anger festers,
her vengeance is screaming,
and I am caught in her cage.