{"sf1_id":461626,"sf2_id":"2143y9rn","title":"We, the Beasts","author":"Lunostophiles","words":287,"posted_at":"2012-11-12T18:22:00.000Z","tags":["Power","confidence","furry"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/461626-we-the-beasts","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/2143y9rn","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/26/05/2605d750-f561-4d68-86be-ded1cc877b86","description":"#2 of Poetry\n\nA battle cry for our community-at-large. We are prolific, and we are anxious to show our prowess. Why don't we?","content":"I am not what you think I am.\n\nI am feral, blood marking my age on my teeth,  \nStrings of raw flesh trapped in my gums.  \nMy fingers manipulate my skin,  \nPulling and tugging it over bone and sinew,  \nDeforming it, layers of butcher paper on meat.  \nSweat rolls in rivulets,  \nMapping the topography of my muscles;  \nMuscles aching to be free.\n\nI am many parts, and many wholes.  \nI can deform myself into intricately finer and finer shapes  \nUntil I am sharp and focused and barely noticable.  \nI am able to conform like no other;  \nBut the muscles inside me, they yearn--  \nThey grow acidic with strain and use.  \nMy deformation holds back wonders,  \nTwisted walls that contain a god.\n\nYou know my face--the lines between my eyes.  \nYou know the constellations of pores upon my body,  \nBut you do not know me.  \nDeep beneath this surface, I hold magic,  \nContained by an ever-softening dam.  \nWith each year that slips by, I grow confident,  \nI grow strong, I swell with power and prestige.  \nAnd I am not alone.\n\nWe, the beasts.  \nWe, the infernal creations, the machinations of welling ennui,  \nWe the former, now the new!  \nOur defenses have weakened, our cores now free,  \nAnd akin to lightning storms on hot summer nights,  \nWe distort our world with vivid intensity!  \nHear our cries, for we are whole,  \nWe are focused, though we are large;  \nGigantic in scope, precise in nature!  \nI am a scalpel, she is a laser, he is a needle.  \nI, a claw. She, a tooth. He, a horn.  \nWe, the creatues who are borne of human longing;  \nWe, the animal kind and animal kings.  \nWe the former, now the new;  \nWe, the beasts!\n\n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Poetry","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/461558-three-mile-island.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/461770-synesthesia.json"}}