In this world, at least I am whole and holy.
I know for a **** splintering fact that I am not important to the human race.
I am no disgrace, not a waste.
Just a face.

I seem pointless,
but by God I'll be ****** if my **** body was spineless:
I'm strong.

I face the people that I know don't want me,
I face the sobbing tear-streamed gazes
and see myself in their eyes,
looking long and lean and thin,
two sunken purple rims
and lips cracked,
showed the face of my sins.

I am a woman born free and falling deeper into the world she holds as her own.
These mazes of time splinter spokes and pierce the thick air.
We move as the molecules of water,
but no one seems to stop to bother seeing if the Now is alright
instead of waiting for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow night.

Maybe breathe, and see?

That there is beauty within me.

I hold the hands of  different lands,
but does that make me different from any other man?
Or woman, because I am both:
The sun and the moon are held within me.
Each *****.

I feel the scorching red and orange delight of day
while trying to keep night at bay.

But when the moon glides over crystal, violet sky,
there is no reason to hide.

Feel a howl rumble deep within and
smile a grumbling smile,
dark and biting the wolf chomps chatter,
cackling with master planned disaster.

And this I hold deep within my soul,
clenching tight a harbored goal to have a human
be a human
as once they were
just another **** species among many on Earth.