You were born of billions and trillions of little ions and particles and skin cells.
Red blood cells, white blood cells, bones, muscle tissue, you were a perfect little specimen.
imperfect giants got their hands on you.
they grabbed you, ripped you away from the comfort you had known before,
they tore you apart piece by fucking piece
destroyed you with words.
scarred you the darkest shade of red in lies and heartbreak.
You were born of many colors. those giants, they took out those bright stars in the sky.
They took out your sunshine yellow charisma, your dandelion white laughter,
you pink carnation smile
replaced them with a dark black emptiness, a sadness that kept you up every night with the words
“nobody needs me”
running through your head, galloping like a horse, a wild stallion with hooves clopping against the warm ground, riding deeper and deeper into the imperfection of the perfect little specimen that the giants had molded you into.
You were born of brown eyes, gleaming and glistening
that dulled with each earthly touch of the giants with their
big bad words and their big bad lies.
You were born of beauty, and grace, and ethereal glory
but the giants, they stomped all over you
and the imperfection of the perfect little specimen was as visible
as the shooting stars you snatched from the night sky.
They took you, the perfect little specimen
and tossed you away into bin
a failed experiment.