Humans inherit habits and traits
like animals pass on fur patterns.
tighter than fur, closer than skin,
just above the flesh marred with battle scars.
We judge each other by colours
– not every leopard is a panther –
and habitual fur is so difficult to strip.
Who can see
deeper than skin, past blinding patterns,
into the heart of the best possible version of our selves?
Which hands can pet hearts
instead of raw naked flesh?
colour our own fur,
change bad habits into ornaments
and recreate patterns as required,
not like chameleons that forgot their own true colour while adapting to peer pressure,
but like butterflies, becoming what we were meant to be from the beginning?