She let her nails grow long and jagged,
her hair tossed over in a rough braid
that led down to her muddy feet
Calloused were her fingers and cracked was her skin
A fight with an aged lion left her with 2 things:
an angry pink scar down her face
and a new fur blanket
Apanthropinization let her forget her mother tongue,
but she spoke now a new language
One of survival and blood fresh fierceness.
Her clothes are mere rags that keep her skin from crisping
But death does not touch her
No clocks here to count down her demise
To make her mortality a heavy thing like only humans do
Never would she have guessed her humanity to be such a heavy yoke.