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Bottom paw-black hair damp / from self-absorbed licking, forepaw wet / with saliva from the mouse’s wet kiss; befriending like this at the beginning / is always a trick, but mouse is smarter; she understands yet plays along while fooling herself into thinking it’s a strategic move when in reality she’s avoiding the real question: what happens if you stop playing along? Why is she afraid to find out when she’s known for sneaking past rodent traps and stealing string cheese? She’s a thief on her own, yet she bows down to someone bigger than her—is she scheming something or simply submitting because being the victim might cover for her swiped cheese? / Her sins? / What type of metaphor is this anyway? Most would interpret that the mouse is my haplessness and the cat is my traitorous fake friend, but actually I’m both—see, this is why I don’t play with metaphors; I can’t stand shrouding truth and getting it brushed over like bangs of guise, yet there is no other way for me / to put it: I feign love and friendship while acting as cat and mouse with myself and whoever it is I envy. I envy a lot more than I exhibit in my teeth-pearled tee-hees; don’t look so surprised. You should
know by now the cat aimed to use or take something from the mouse, and the mouse isn’t dumb. She knows more than she lets on; she takes the bait but doesn’t know what for except that it might make her less of a greedy, foolish sinner if she was robbed herself—her karma may reverse but I’ve done things in the past that no wisdom / good karma can undo. I recovered / stories and penned fiction in their ripped pages to throw you off my musky scent. I clawed / promises etched in stone and made a fault line in its heart with my bare teeth while the rabies in my salivary glands weaken me day by day—I swell and swell and have no appetite for anything, so maybe that’s why lately I have not looted stealthily; I can barely stand covering up / my crimes yet the righteous judges can’t see it in the open because a cat and a mouse / mask looks almost identical in costume contests, but I’m dog-tired / from double masks and masking, so to cut to the chase, I have to put it this way: I’m insincere and I compare / myself with friends and I don’t love them as much as I swear and I want too much and I play / with fire / knowing what it would do to my skin; I heat up yet it’s not the fever that gets me sick in the end / nor the zoonotic diseases but it’s the dizziness that continuously comes from unceasingly chasing my own tail. Cailey Tin is a Philippine-based teen creative. A vivacious reader and spirited writer, she is a writing manager and spoken word co-host at Incandescent Review, a columnist for Paper Crane Journal, Spiritus Mundi, and Incognito Press, among others. When not editing poetry for the borderline or Sophon Lit, she’s (imagining) chipping away at pieces—some appearing or forthcoming in Eunoia Review, Ice Lolly Review, and Sage Cigarettes. Check out her Instagram @itscaileynotkylie. Comments are closed.
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