Molds

Burn and liquify me and I still won’t succumb to the torture. My body was never made to fit,

molds don’t like me.

I tried so desperately to fit in, to be part of the collective and be seen as “one of them”,

instead I have been brutally reminded that being adored by evil does not make me any better than them.

And so I refuse those molds,

I will shatter every version of myself that fit into them. I will never part of the perfect.

Instead, I will enjoy my form,

as imperfect as it may be.

It is me.