“There's nothing wrong with us,”

They'll claim, teeth fake, shimmering,

Running their blistered

Skin across blades of grass

In their silent lovers' yards.

 

Prick me fondly

With requirements of right,

Sear it into my skull

That I was born defunct,

Tear the shame from your chest

And trample over it as you escape

In the shivering void of night,

Your lust for power consuming you

And desecrating the sacred ground

You shovel around.

 

Push to steal our bodies,

But tell us it's not right

To wonder greedy streets

On rusty-mooned nights.

Remove our clothing with your claws,

Yet shun us away

When the sun sees what you've done;

Fear's too scary to face.