the type of monster you keep on a leash
by Vanessa Jae

They turned our legs
into metal palps
because they couldn’t bear
the sight of hair on them.

​

These limbs don’t spin
fine silk no more,
they spill wires
sharpened to cut.

​

We see out of one eye now,
the multitude of our lenses
fused together
in hope for less clarity.

​

Fangs injecting venom
became jaws filed
into dullness,
leaking numbing acid.

​

The mane growing out
of our scalps is kept
long enough for them
to pull us into place.

 

Our heads remain soft,
as they’ve always been,
with easy access to the brain.
In case of emergency—crush.