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Something Sick and Alien.

Madness.

You know exactly
what you are,
that you can never win.

Just something sick and alien.

Fake it to connect
or be true to yourself
and watch it fall away.
You can’t take
the fiction,
try as you do
neither can you bear
the truth.

Feeling like a sore thumb.
They all know you don’t belong,
they just can’t put their finger
on the central element
of their potential prejudice.

Not pigment
of the skin, sexual persuasion, something deeper, creepier,
beneath the skin,
passed the marrow.

Nightmares, phobia.
Delusions of persecution.
Watch as you succumb
to this again.

They watch.
They whisper…

Keep the fear
or let it loose,
speak your truth
and risk
being heard, believed

and bear the fall out
of the contagion.
History reveals
the pattern, their reaction.

Torches alight,
they will hunt their monster
down, fashion a noose,
hang you from a tree branch.

Difference
for them is either
distinction
or dysfunction.
Equality, diversity,
a fucking foreign concept.

Beneath confusion
and silence, it’s already done.

The enemy
behind the curtain
that set out to divide us
has already won…

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