Not a Human
I have once pulled out my hair.
Eaten my tongue and sliced the skin.
Closed my throat and-hanging-flailed.
Cross the Styx in death's boat I've ridden.
Dying-slowly-with bones weak and frail
by darkness and despair as I see no light.
My heart weighs heavy for the test it failed:
too sick to be a human, quite.
I have danced to the tune of Pan,
and sang a song to the Man in the Moon.
Tossed off my clothes and naked I ran,
to my grave as I face my doom.
Dark closing in on the left and right,
as I close the doors to my tomb.
A human? Hah! Not a human quite.
I have felt the cold steel of chains.
My wrists internally raw.
Grit my teeth in all my pain-
in my face, 'tis the Horned One you saw.
I have abandoned this hopeless flight,
and been lost in a sea of flaws.
Too flawed to be a human, quite.
I have once been clear as air:
Invisible, yet you breathe.
As air, I am treated rarely ever fair.
You walk through me all the while I seethe.
I am nothing-you are immune to my plight,
for in me you will never believe.
For I will never be human, quite.
Copyright © Anna Makoujy | Year Posted 2006
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