Toy

It is not my place to declare people fools
and not my position to call people dogs.
Yet, I am harassed from all sides
for no other reason than I cannot fight back.
I am torn apart.
A piece of my left calf is being eaten over there.
My right hand is missing its thumb.
My stomach hangs from an open cavity.
I am not my own; nor does God claim me.
I am a toy, to be ripped and de-stuffed,
stitched randomly and thrown in the washer.
I hang by my neck to dry.
Riches and glory are nothing to me.
I have no reason to live, nor to die.

Thank you for reading…

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