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There is something fierce in my heart

That roars and claws with each

withheld breath

And misleading smile.

If I were a lion, I suppose,

I would actually roar

And my teeth, which already feel

heavy

and sharp

would actually by lethal.

Or perhaps I would be a dragon,

breath hot and terrible,

so that each feral roar

strikes down my enemy.

And then my claws would also

be real

and terrible

So that my hands no longer

curl

into hot (too hot) fists

but instead stretch and

extend my fury.