I am tired of fighting.
To exist.
To survive.
To simply be.
Born wrong,
Into a world that hates you.
Black strings,
Dragging on the soul by the dozens.
Eventually they slow you down,
Your stubborn survivalism fades.
You surrender to it.
Let yourself drown in the inky pools.
Let the black ichor rise,
Slowly crawling above your crown.
Open your mouth,
Let it fill your lungs.
Know what it’s like to cease.
Spikes of flesh,
Hacked from me at birth.
A dozen small deformities.
A hundred hidden deeper,
Hidden within the flesh.
Fists clenched.
Haymaker windmills,
Hands around their throats.
Pain,
An only birthright.
Learning to navigate the handicaps,
A dusty road,
Drenched in blood.
Work ten times harder,
Get half as far.
Learn to be uncomfortable,
In your own skin.
Soaking in the hatred,
Dislike.
Annoyance.
Repulsed by your mannerisms,
Your wildling brain cage.
Too strange.
Witches’ weirdings,
Blood curses,
Hexes upon one’s destiny.
We were born to die.
Revulsion is merely a side effect.
Repulsion is merely the norm.
Rejection is merely the expectation.
Learn your place.
Go away.
