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Jurrasic Heart

I was born in the amber-dark,

a creature stitched from instincts and fractures,
always mistaking survival for purpose.

My heart has been a park running on failing generators 
alarms muttering, fences flickering,
order collapsing one tremor at a time.
The kind of place where love becomes the first creature
to escape containment.

I’ve chased every warm silhouette through the ferns,
never understanding that affection isn’t engineered,
isn’t summoned with codes or coaxed with control.
It is wild a ripple in a still pool
that foretells something larger than me.

Chaos theory keeps laughing in my ear:
a breath, a blink, a misplaced fear 
and everything changes.
Not because fate is cruel
but because I still try to cage what was never mine.

I see it now in the ruins of my own making:
I’ve been the malfunction,
the cracked pipe,
the quiet system failure that lets the beasts roam free.

To love is not to electrify the fences,
nor demand the jungle kneel.
To love is to step back as the wild reveals itself
without fear of its teeth.

Even an ancient creature like me
must learn the truth buried beneath chaos:
you cannot demand devotion
from a world built to break containment.
you can only give,
and hope the wild chooses to stay

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