A Cry for Help to Nobody

My skin is a shell,

my heart is a flower,

but I have no place in this world.


My peers are

hundreds of hands reaching

as I fall over a cliff.

But they all want to be the best,

the savior,

and the crucial act of saving is not enough.

Their competition distracts each other

so I fall.


I don’t remember

where I stood

or how old I was

when I made the realization.

And still,

I make the realization daily

as if I could forget

that which I can never forget:

That my peers are human deities

and I am a human animal.


Years, and still I wait for the epiphany.

These human gods who surpass me,

I wait for their logic,

the logic of science and study,

the logic of method and trial,

to guide them.


But divine human logic

has always defied nature,

has it not?


It is the animals

who know how to live

without killing everything else.


And yet, I am some sad excuse of a human animal,

less like the lion

and more like the cat.

I hear the truth calling

but I cannot find it.

The doors are closed

and I have no thumbs.

So I sleep

and I wait

for something to change.

But I will never have thumbs

and they will never open the door for me.


I look down at myself

and I am disgusted.

Fabrics made by machines

that blacken the earth like wood

steal food from the mouths

of hungry people

with willing fingers.

And whose idea was it

to take food,

God’s green gift of a world of food,

God’s gift of a life of peace,

food running free beneath our feet,

and put a price on it?


I look down at my skirts

and am assaulted

by colors that do not exist.

They do not exist!

But the godly human says they do

and so they do.

And it is because they like this color,

need this color,

this color that does not exist,

that the toxins needed to create them

slowly poison our mother.


I look to the right

and I am offended.

It is no unreasonable expectation

to be able to see the sky

from the earth.


when you think about it,

what else is there?

And yet it is not so.

Where there should be sky

there are walls and roofs,

straight lines

the likes of which

bring panic to the human animal’s heart.

For in those rigid forms

where is there room

for error?

There is not.


I look to the left

and I am shocked.

For there is empty land

intentionally emptied

for the sake of emptiness.

A bare lot,

a grassy field.

No hint

of the oxygen-bearing trees

that once grew freely there.


who needs oxygen

when we have strip malls?


A child’s grandmother

has lung cancer,

caused by the ceaseless smoking of her children.

They do not have the time

or the desire

to treat her.

And so she lies in bed,

being subjugated daily

to their smoke.

But the truth is hidden

by the illusion

that her symptoms are natural.

All elderly women

must occasionally be bedridden.

Coughing is

good for her.

Releases phlegm.

She is not sick;

she is well.

She only appears sick

to your immature mind.

We would never let anything

happen to our mother.


Eventually he’s smart enough

to see the truth behind the smiles.

He has no blame.

These things happen.

Humans are human.

He looks forward.

Now that we all know,

we can save her.

Let’s go to the hospital;

let’s make a plan to save her.

But they just laugh and light their cigarettes

over her dwindling form.


He will ask forever

and receive no help.

He cannot drive; he is useless.

He doesn’t have the tools.

The only thought


Who would leave their mother dying?

Who would do that which kills her?


Now he has blame.


The divine humans would.


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