Apoptosis

Sometimes I feel inhuman, like I am an alien trapped in the skin of *****sapiens, trying to fit in. This attire doesn’t suit me-- every act is pain. I look around… They move through life so easily… I want to scream. I want to find language that they will understand. Can they tell my struggle? Would they love me if they knew? I take a deep breath. I protect my cover and lift these lips into a smile. If I let them in, they will shut me in the dark. All will examine, dissect, gawk over. Some already do. Don’t worry, I want to tell them. I work for no leader; I am no cancer; I pose no threat. I am just a mutation in the matrix of society, a minor misprint. Homogeneity will seek me out and destroy me… or I will soon myself. It's the life cycle of every special thing.