I look down on myself
From outside the rage, the fear
I see myself
As I fly
A tiny speck in the distance
So easily rubbed out, forgotten.
From the past few weeks alone
What legacy might I leave?
Slap downs, vitriol, and cold hard knocks
Hate for those who dare to clock
The way I look
Who slip by, with glances sideways,
And don’t dare to stop.
My skin crawls in response to touch
I have writhing black millipedes
Instead of hair;
My eyeballs burst in pain
To a honeycomb of hexagons;
My wings emerge
While scars bear their teeth in my chest
And begin to consume me, alive.
I don’t recognise
This alternate version of me
Sick, twisted, flickering like a mirage
Trapped in a wide open space
While the world simply bats me away,