Feather sits alone,
In the middle of her bed,
Riotous, unhappy thoughts,
Running through her head.
Her little paws are shaking,
Her fur standing on end,
One more attack and little Feather-
Can definitely not defend.
Feather's really lucky,
In a morbid, twisted way,
She's never lost a person,
So that means she's okay?
Not really, but it's alright,
She cleans her whiskers up,
Before her sister screams at her,
Snarky 'mucky pup'.
They all mean it nicely,
The kitten tells herself,
Not looking at the faded photo-
Sitting on her shelf.
Feather turns away from it,
Facing her plain blue wall,
And neatly tucks her tail in,
And curls up in a ball.
Downstairs she hears them laughing,
At her expense she bets,
But she's alright... She's got herself,
And that's just fine, intense.
At least, that's what she tells herself.
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