InsaneJournal

Current mood:

contemplative

Clipped nails, soft demeanor
I feel like a de-clawed cat; small and just waiting to be attacked. There is no longer a bite behind my bark, so now have I sit here and ponder my strange exile, learning to not snap at the slightest annoyance or retort snappishly at the stupidest thing that could flow between lips.

I have to think, truely think, of how hurtful my words can be. And then I can learn and change and grow. And perhaps I will learn how to handle my claws when they re-grow.

If not, then they are cut away again.