Inkpaw

(from a dog's perspective) 

the blisful backround hum 
of children running around in the living room 
and dropping bits of carrott from the counter 
for me to feast opon 
as i lay here

He steps out of the fragrant burger shop 
A greasy paper wrapped peice of heaven in one hand
And a vanilla shake in the other
His hood is drawn 
And his beat up sneakers 

the hurt
like glass shattered on harsh rock
lashed by the wrath 
of wind and wave
sharp 
and jabbing 
throwing me down 
filling my lungs 
with excruciating pain 

the words at the end of the rainbow
the labels 
and names set aside 
don't fit like they should 
don't really feel good
and so i continue to hide
i have no clue what to call me