Leaving home, I can’t
seem to breathe anymore;
this world so distant
to me now. Kay Lawrence
they call her, like none
I’ve ever seen before.
Her sunset red hair,
her elegant skin
so strange to compare
against these scales and fins.
Our lives become undone
by such juxtaposition.
They can’t take me away,
but I won’t let her leave.
I know she won’t want to stay
with me. She believes
me a monster, aberrant
in existence, and cannot conceive
of my being. I don’t belong
here among them. I shouldn’t exist—
a remnant of what was long
ago. The doctors and scientists
think me a curiosity, along
the lines of what time has missed,
perhaps even forgotten.
6/4/10
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