Be happy in your own skin

What goes on in
someone’s head
to want to wear
a fur
to know that people
hate it
and still
they fail to stir

a creature can have its head
bashed in
with a wooden stake
and its skin stripped off
its body
whilst it is awake

it bled to death
it gasped in pain
and they threw
it on some heap
that little face
all bloody
honest, I couldn’t sleep

thinking of its agony
how it had, slipped away
with all its little foxy
thoughts
how it was
made to pay

for vanity
we vehemently
vanquish
we fail to venerate
we fail to see
the value of another
and what about its mother
its father and its brother
where can it be

they now wait
for it to come back home
but it will not happen
the one leg trap has caught
it and now time
and blood loss will of course effect
an outcome
a reason for what is an
awful rhyme

that leg hold trap
had beaten this young soldier
who ran the gamut
every single day
and so was holed up
in a dusty thicket
so hags could wear their coats
this babe must pay

and still
these hags want
babies skin
around them
adorned with
drops of vile
congealed dry blood
treated with a
chemical jelly cocktail
deafened to the mildly sounding
thud

as the trappers boot
now squeezes out
its life force
its frantic search
for light
extinguished by
the weight of some
fat slob
who earns
just a few bob
and ends a life
which clearly isn’t right

those hags who don’t feel anything
for their victims
and look into their mirrors
when they wear
their precious stole
or coat, to make them look
a million dollars
a coat that
emanates purest despair

it has the smell of dead skin
its so, significant
when it gets wet
its animal, in fact
how can this be gorgeous
how can women do this
honestly
I think they must be cracked