“Just a Stray Dog, Still Dreaming of a Kiss”

I know I’m not going to get a kiss, because I’m just a stray dog — the kind people walk past without stopping, the kind that makes children pull closer to their parents and others wrinkle their nose as if my existence is something they’d rather forget, and yet even with matted fur, aching bones, and an empty belly, I still find myself hoping that maybe today, someone will see more than just dirt and ribs — maybe they’ll see a soul.

I wasn’t born dangerous, I wasn’t born broken — I was just born unlucky, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, without anyone to claim me, and while others got toys, warm beds, and names whispered with love, I got concrete sidewalks, cold nights, and people yelling at me to move along,

but still I wait near the same alley or park bench each day, because somewhere deep down, I still believe love could find me.

No one ever teaches you how to survive loneliness, how to stay warm with no blanket, how to stop the shaking when hunger becomes pain, and even though I’ve learned to drink from puddles and sleep with one eye open, nothing has taught me how to stop wanting — wanting someone to reach out, wanting to feel fingers scratch behind my ear, wanting someone to call me theirs.

They say I’m too far gone, too damaged, too hopeless — but I’ve never bitten, never growled, never stopped wagging my tail every time I see a human approach,

and I wonder, would it change anything if people knew I still dream, still hurt, still love despite everything, even though I’m just a stray, even though I know deep down that kisses aren’t meant for dogs like me.

But still — I wait.