Not Every Fox Is Yours to Tame

[swankystar]

They called her danger in a dress,
A nine-tailed myth they tried to guess.
Thought if they named her, they could own—
But wild things carve their name in bone.

She’s not the soft they want to save,
Not built for bows, or to behave.
She’s red-lipped wrath in human skin,
A gumiho who lets you in…
only to strip you from within.

He came with swagger, thought he’d teach—
But lost his words beneath her reach.
His wrists now bound in silken threat,
His mouth a shrine, his limbs a debt.

“Don’t call me baby,” she warned low.
“Call me what your ancestors owe.”

She made him taste the things she hid—
The silence, shame, the younger kid
Who bit her tongue to stay polite—
Now speaks in gasps and claims her right.

He whimpered, learned to love the sting.
His voice? Gone. But he could sing
with tongue and hands, with sweat and ache—
For every time she let him break.

So hear this truth in whispered flame:
Not every fox is yours to tame.
She does not purr. She does not wait.
She opens wide—and calls it fate.