My head feels like a ticking bomb,
Fast yet unmoving at the same time.
My chest is full of a burst of energy,
But my limbs are cemented to the ground.


There is no gratification in caging oneself
To be seen as human again,
Because your being is bristling.
It is jumping, running, and moving away,
While your flesh is sinking.


Blood and sweat through my fingers—
I will look at the mirror,
And a creature will look back at me.
I will close my eyes,
And when I open them in seconds,
I will see a ruin.
And if I let myself feel,
I will feel my soul bleeding,
Leaking,
Leaving my flesh.


When the night falls,
I will not be myself.
But this is what I am made of,
So I will take it all.
I will take the foul stench of my rotting flesh,
I will take the leaking fluids of my soul,
I will take the ruins,
And I will take the hand of the creature
That I hate so much,
Will squeeze it all inside my chest.


When the sun rises again tomorrow,
I will not be able to grow wings.
But it is how I am made—
To exist.
Maybe one should take pride in the act of accepting.


No one will ever know,
But, hell, I will even find that gratification.
I will relish,
Because I exist.
Because I exist despite the creature, the ruin, and the rot,
And I am able to breathe.


The floor will not collapse,
And the sky will be limitless,
And I will soar through them—
With or without wings.


It will be messy, but at least I will be able to be me.
May I exist in a shape that I recognize.
And when I look at the mirror,
The mirror will show me.
I will smile at it,
And it will smile back at me.


Maybe there really is a gratification in caging oneself
To be seen as human again—
Not to exist as a mask,
But to be accepting.
Despite everything,
It is still you.