Sometimes I'm the lion, and sometimes I'm the doe. When you make me mad, when I'm passionate about something, when my blood is racing so fast it's roaring like a hundred white rapids, I'm the lion. My curly hair rests, curl over curl, twenty rolling masses protecting my vulnerable neck and masking my exposed heart. But my hide won't be thick forever, sometime I have to lay down in the sun. The heat wears on me and before I know it my lashes are caressing one another. My paws grow too heavy to pick up and I'm rooted where I stand. I'm tamed and I fall heavily, like a building drawn too far into the sky. Pride is strong and stubborn but it is short lived.
And then I'm the doe, prancing around dead leaves and snow melting on my nose. All at once I'm graceful, nervous, and vulnerable. I look so innocent, standing there. I don't make much noise but you watch me none the less. At first you enjoy it, you're entranced. You want to draw closer and pet me, run your hands along my long back. You watch my every movement, the musles on my legs running smoothly like water in a shallow river. No sound, no rocks to hinder it.
But then it grows cold and that river turns to ice. The seasons change and you're not a boy anymore. My grace doesn't matter to you. You forget the fact that I mean no harm; it's erased from your mind as if you never knew it. You forget that first snowfall and the joy we both felt. You pull out your gun and you shoot me, a bullet to the heart.
And all at once, you've taken everything I ever was, a proud yet vulnerable thing, a girl you once loved. And with one fatal blow, you crushed both hearts, that of the lion and the doe. Because when you were a boy somebody let you play with a gun and pretend to shoot imaginary Indians. And when you grew, you forgot who you were shooting at, who you were hurting. You drew me in because you loved me, because I loved you, because you made me feel wild and tame at the same time, and just when I walked into the clearing, you punctured me with lead. Didn't you ever think of who you were shooting? Didn't you ever stop to think that I'm more than a trophy? Don't you ever stop to think that there is more to being a man than hunting and taming and caging and hurting? More than the destruction you make with your own hands?
You used to pet animals, you used to hold girls' hands, now you shoot them because it's all a sport.