I'm just an animal.
Humans and I aren't the same species. Somehow, it's like they see the animal in me. Speak to me as rarely as they can, skirt around where I step like I'm a danger to them. They speak in a language I don't recognize, make quips about how ragged I look, how uncanny my behaviour is, and how sharp these teeth and claws I hold look in their eyes.
I am not built the same as them. My mind and body are made from different flesh. And they can tell. They can tell just from looking at me. Not one of us, I see the thought behind their eyes. I can't understand the concept that one of them could not be a danger to me, that any of them don't want to hurt me the way they have my whole life. I snarl and bite my teeth at them, then cover my mouth in hot shame. I can't even mimic their rage.
My teeth are inhuman and monstrous. I look at them in the mirror and see a wide animal maw staring back at me. I learned early to not smile or laugh in a way that shows them off. Humans don't like when a beast bares it's teeth at them.
My voice is garbled and broken, throat damaged from mimicking a language my vocal chords didn't evolve to speak. I used to take comfort in growling, snarling, crowing, screaming. It became clear that did nothing but scare them. I stopped.
Finding ones that aren't a danger is almost worse. Longing. I can be a good animal for you. Bite my tongue and hide my teeth away from you. Never speak so you can say anything you want to me. I can lay on the floor so you don't have to share your furniture with a pitiful creature. Let me stay, I can be a good animal for you. I would be so good at it.
I'm as much a human as I am a rock or a leaf in the dirt below their feet.