To my loved ones, I'm a ghost: I haunt them, I am to be shunned. Heartless as ghosts are, I do not feel wrath-- I feel the emptiness.
What have I done to become this sort of monstrosity?
What must I do to come alive before them?-- What must I do--
to become real in their eyes?

To my loved ones, I am ****. I am brown, filthy, avoided.
They seek to go back to the ******* of the owners
who love disowning them.
Why, my beloved owners, do you not see-- that I am your ****:
There are many like me, but this **** is yours.

To my loved ones, I'm just phlegm. Sticky-- yuck!
But, the same substance used to protect them from viruses
Why do you look at me--
Your protector, with disdain?

Do you not see:
I may be all of these, but I am yours anyway.