empty cedar
I look at myself in the water droplets I drink from and see my antennas protrude through my hat.
The feelers I hiss while sitting there scavenging what I can enjoy just to get by.
The walking carcass that should've been dead a long time ago. Hunted for what I am.
I sit and scurry, trying to get my daily bread. To make it one more day.
Why couldn't I have been a better animal? Or insect? Hell even a better trash animal like possums or moths. To find peace and acceptance in a subsection of a subsection, for people who "Like trash".
Wasting away, used for gags, used for noise;
Used.
I look at myself and what I bring. Death, plague, hatred for something I don't even know how I could get rid of. How I could find peace in this.
I find value in the discarded, the trash made treasure, the homes I force my way into.
Sitting outside of the lavish pet cages. Peering in at your world from the holes in your walls and imagining what it would be like to just look a little different.
But it's pointless, I can't change what I am.
There's no use talking about what might've been.
I'll find a place one day. A home made from garbage, from the discarded.
My colony I'll thrive in.
I'll carve a name for myself in sewers, caves, I'll find a place in nothingness.
I'll get by.
I'll find something.
I'll find a way to make this work.
I always do.
warm umbra
untold wigeon
high condor