I never feel like the way I present myself

after years and years of being the mean one

the tough one

the hard one

the evil one

it's hard to look at my own face and recognize something good

something clean

I saved my first life yesterday

she was a baby

hardly anywhere near her time but it was true, as some do die young she wasn't apart of the group

there was these curtains

they hung low

low enough for her to climb away from the other edge of the pen and pull on it

her hands itched as they brushes the string, working to tie its way around her neck

grabbed it back and with eyes wide open 

there I was, the new recruit, risen up from the ashes

staring back at who I used to be

and the baby between us

he was a devil like me 

and he looked dissapointed

as if he knew my wings didn't make any sense on my own body either

he left in disgust, the baby looked up at me

I touched her forehead and willed her to sleep, hung the string higher and breathed

neither the clean, good, righteous one, but I want to be