By: Mary P. Douglas

Hands cupped peering through the glass
Desperately attempting to visualize;
Insiders

Reality’s repugnant
Torment of the truth
Thorns surging through my veins
Fiercely wrenching,
Profound wounds.
Striking skull against the immortal wall
Blood gushing out,
Exposing myself,
Vulnerable.
No acuity, filled with rigidity.

Discerning the truth
Feigning the chameleon
Transform I cannot.
Yearning for eminence.

If I was a ball of clay
I could be molded and shaped like they
Holes poked to insert the impeccable mind,
Fantasy this is not,
This rage will not wane.

What is real is feeling raw
Stripped down to the core
Unloved
Misunderstood
Unacceptable

Enough.
Humiliate no more.

Intuition igniting
Suffering must halt
Seasons’ transition
Hastening away with tears drenching
Shadowing the foreign path.

Never looking back,
Never looking back.