Bones
They would love me if I were only bones
Without skin that itched under direct sunlight
and eyes that flinched away from a blue glare
if silver lint in clothing did not make me scratch
if the stench of garlic did not curl my hair
They would love me if I were only bones
My bones do not have to pretend at human
the only abnormality would be the teeth
there would be no eyes to look away from often
or fingers to count the grains of salt before I eat
I would love me if I were only bones
without a flesh suit to mask all day in human display
without the need to speak, to hear, to act correctly
without a scientific examination of my every word
and action. For you think so vastly differently from me.
Bones lie in museum to be revered:
a specimen of humanity and it's legacy.
This body wanders freely, a circus act to be jeered
Speech, gait, manner only safe behind bar---else feared.
I am hidden in my coffin, only brought before the public
to recite long forgotten knowledge and give my exotic opinion
on topics where I may be gawked at for my
'just so different way of thinking'
my opinion that will be 'interesting'
because 'you have such a different perspective.'
And have my statements recorded and analysed under
a microscope for humanity to be judged
in a court I was lured to, by friends who stand
against me as witnesses for a trial I do not understand
why I am facing.
And when I stand to testify that I cannot help my fangs,
the jury only see the off-set stare,
hears the flat voice,
and shudder at the uncanny
and sentence me to sunlight exposure therapy
to banish the parts of me dubbed inhuman.
But difference is not bad until plans are made
only in the breaking dawn when I have long retired to rest.
Until my company is only welcome when I paint over
my different flesh.
When a difference in appetite, attitude, affect does not
make you less pleasant to be around the complete strangers
because I have run out of the blood of humanity
to play the role of human.
And though I have long sworn off the taste of blood
to mask my stench of death
you would rather I keep on devouring human flesh,
as long as it not you, than face the difference in me
directly.
You would rather I keep the taste of humanity in my mouth
even when human blood poisons me to drink
even when it itches as much as sunlight and silver and stakes.
Than welcome me in different flesh
and different feeling
and different face.
You would rather I stand shackled before the rising dawn
until my flesh is stripped away and only a smile is left
and the hollow between my ribs can be declared sure proof
that I did not have a heart.
You can only love me when I am bones because
The mind dissolves to dust at the dawn of death.