Different
They disgusted me.
Shoving fistfuls of gray mush with their hot, fleshy, pink sausages into their gaping holes. The air was filled with a chorus of sipping and slurping and digesting. It made me want to vomit until I passed out, so I wouldn’t have to suffer.
They’re also the ones who looked down on you from their high, two headed horses under disfigured noses. Talked to you like a poor sinner. I wish they would have just pulled their bottom lips over their heads, swallowing their words. Whoring out their unwanted advice like dirty pennies.
I never asked for their help.
I never asked for their advice.
But they came
And gave me pills for the pain.
The pills turned me into a puppet with strings; trained me to act like them. No. “To behave like a normal human being.” I wanted to ask them what being “normal” meant, but I was too doped up to speak correctly. I slurred like zombie. The petite nurse with a burned white suit, perfect blonde curls and rosy cheeks just patted my thin yellow hand, softly gave me encouragement, spoke as if loud words would shatter my dry skin and destroy my secondhand soul.
I just sat there in a torn red armchair covered in a cream blanket made of dead skin while the T.V blared a PBS program about birds. I wished I was a bird, with their elegant curved beaks and their intellectual eyes. They can’t be swayed from their written purpose, not by colored rags, bloody rocks or creative titles. They have an important mission. God told them “Birds, please protect the skies and observe Satan’s creatures.”The birds would look at him with glassy eyes, heads askew, opening up soft, wispy wings and slap the air.
If I were a bird, I would soar high until my wings brushed the delicate veil of heaven. My shady fine wings would arch about the flimsy clouds casting great dark shadows on the people below. I would feel the powerful gust of breath upon my fluffed breast, the halo of light heating my feathers when I’m free. I once flew. I glided out of my nest and silently landed. I suppose they didn’t want me to fly away or perhaps they were afraid the others would become jealous, for they clipped my wings and destroyed my nest. I perched there with my wings tucked and thought about being normal. I wrote down a list of normal things I’ve learned from them in my head.
People went to work every day despite their hatred for it.
They were friends with people they despised.
They settle down and have children, living through them.
They preached the word of god, stepping on tattered hands and feet.
If only I acted differently. If only I blended in better. They could sense when you were different. Like wolves hunting down their prey. They didn’t like different. Different scared them. It should. They never use that word. They’d say, “you’re just special,” “you’re just unique.” They’d look at you with those murky eyes, but you knew what they were really thinking.
I hate them. They’re the ones who are different. They’re grotesque, vile, revolting and horrendous. Everything I wish I could be.
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