If a leopard can’t shed its spots
  why should I?

born in the wild — no tame, just claws.
if i wanted to feel something
 maybe i should do it;
that way the wind’s gusts this time
  will wrap itself around me instead.

constant foreboding —
 the lust i have for pity is insatiable.
stroke me there,
 my ego can take it;
i am not just the fiction
  in your fable.

worked to nil,
 round the bend of luck we go —
don’t read into it too much
 unless you can take me there.

eyes bulge at the act,
a whisper with no tact —
 silent, rolling tongues wag;
sniff — autumn leaves never brag.

but my fur is weathered,
 damage is done.
so i will do it,
 and you can’t tell me none.