I hear laughter and someone asks if I need help, not in a nice way. I snarl, "What I need is for your mother to have thought a little harder nine months before your birthday.

sloughing my skin / escaping it's grip / stripped of my wit / it hurts to be me .

You needn't tell a bird it's a bird. Or remind a fish of its purpose. It's only us who lose our way. We have names because we must. - from Golden Tongue: The Poems of Steven Slaughter

My parents had always been so careful with me, until the day they decided I needed to die.

How do you get 'feng shui' out of 'thoughtful'?

Do you know how to wrap a leg?" "I was born wrapping legs," I say stiffly, because I'm insulted. "Must've been a challenging delivery," Sean notes.

and i was right here , almost right within reach , but still one thousand mile away