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 swear

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,





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