Flesh

What is a human

Is it not that slimy
Writhing, bloody little body
That has to be wrenched
Through screaming pain —
Out of an incredibly
Narrow, tearing opening

That helpless little life
Unable to even roll over
Lift its wobbling head
On its own

That mewling, babbling
Drooling toddler
Child, organism —
That needs to be clothed
Spoon-fed
Cleaned of its own filth
Sheltered and trained
Like a dumb animal —

To sit, stay, stand
Stumble and run
Fetch approval
Beg for love
Pretend, grovel, perform —
And dance for scraps

Does it ever become
Anything else

Does a snail
Become anything else —
But that crawling flesh
Leaving behind glistening trails
Carrying its own tomb
On its back
Indifferent to being crushed
Underfoot
By whatever comes along

Fuck respectability

Be a human
Slime
Muck, blood and bile

Cleaned up
Or not