Still a rotten dog

I love you like a rotten dog.

Like something half-dead and howling beneath the porch,

matted fur, ribs sharp enough to cut God,

eyes cloudy with all the things I've seen and never have forgiven myself for.

I love you like I don't know how to do anything else.

Like my canines are falling out of my gums

but I'll still bite for you

not out of anger,

just out of sheer stupidity of devotion.

I love you with hunger tucked under my tongue,

like I'm circling the same patch of dirt waiting to be let in.

Like I don't understand rules but want so badly to follow yours.

Like I bring you broken things in my mouth; sticks, bones, pieces of me

and lay them at your feet hoping they mean something.

I love you like a beast that never got taught better.

Like something snarling at shadows,

but curling into your side like a prayer.

I love you like I mistake punishment for touch and tenderness for danger.

And you

you don't flinch.

You don't scold.

You reach for me with those impossible hands.

You scratch behind my ears like I'm not a monster,

like I'm just scared and stupid and still worth the effort.

You say my name like it's not a curse.

You let me on the bed.

You let me stay.

You laugh when I growl at the thunder and hold me anyway.

You kiss me.

And I don't understand it. I don't know what you see in this mangled thing I've become.

Maybe I'm not a monster after all. Maybe I'm just a dog who hasn't been let in for a while. And maybe your love is the first clean thing I've ever bitten into.

And I promise I won't even try to bite your hand.