The Growl and the Whine

the name i was given held two meanings,

the duality of the land from which i came.

the gentle, sweet maria,

and the one who fought for her name.

when i was younger,

my howls were interpreted as whines.

my cries were seen as a sweet thought.

for when the wolf in my chest fought back,

all that came out of sweet maria was a whine, never a howl.

as I've grown older,

my mind and body matured.

my teeth, no longer tiny,

now fangs, bitting at the cruel hand that feeds me,

blood dripping, a victory.

sweet maria is still there,

but her whines are now growls.

instead of simple gratitude at a catcall,

sweet maria lets out a howl.

sweet maria is older now,

sweet maria traded jazz for rock.

she traded mary janes for combat boots,

princesses for button-up suits,

tough love for distanced cries.

she learned how to bite her tongue,

but she'd rather not,

for her teeth are too sharp for her mouth,

her thoughts too big for her own skull.

i am no longer that gentle maria,

yet she still lives in my heart.

i yearn for her sweetness,

but in these streets, i know

the one who will survive

is the one who knows how to growl.

- r.k.