Breath (Me)
To the hated
Spat
Forgotten among the gold leaves
Fallen from the green trees who’s children are
“The Perfect Ones”
Compared to the shriveled, lifeless shell
Of a snail whom has lost its home
Wondering in the society driven by
Perfection and discrimination
While lies are written on paper
and stuck to bios, we shun,
the truth for so long that the false
begins to seem almost
Real
So take this lifeless bird
Bruised with nonacceptance and self hate
And breath him back to life
