There is a certain kind of futility in day-to-day existence,
In spinning your wheels,
In staying in place.
There is a time when one realizes what one is,
And either revels in it,
Or is revilled by it.
Not so long ago, -on- the school yard,
Kick ball games,
Always last chose.
The one forgotten, picked not by choice;
But rather barely picked at all.
Only a fool or a teacher--
Thinks the game is about the fun,
The worship is in the win.
"Fatty, fatty."
Complaints muddered under breath.
I started hating the mirror,
Always carrying the play yard torture
A good self image left in the dirt.
That time in mind still, lesson learned,
You are what you are unwanted.
When I was nothing, I was a boy.
Oh bow down to -it- unmighty pig,
Overflowing with gluttonous useless slop.
On bended knees,
This thought awakens:
A pig can never change.
He is what he is, always the same.
So am I, so am I.
Pig Unchanging.
Does the animal cry
before
being butchered to death?
or
does it even know?
A pig can never change.
I am nothing, I am a man.
The mirror shows me,
Pig Unchanging.
Take it to slaughter.
-posted by Nobius 12:45 AM 