Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Circus Freaks

I stand here
tears dripping
off my face,
yet despite
the crowd 
nobody notices
my sorrow.

They watch and 
some fascinated
and others disgusted
by my form.
None of them step out
to rescue me
from this place.

They mutter and scream
at me,
thinking that
I'm not human
as well,
that I'm just
another exhibition
in there lives.

My parents sold
me away,
too ashamed and
greedy for money 
to keep me.
They don't care about me.

To them,

I read a book about the life of a circus performer, but not the ones with the Big Top. No, these were exhibitions of "freaky" and "abnormal" humans and other strange things that people paid to go see. They would gawk and gape, not thinking about what the "freaks" think. I was listening to a song called, "Circus Monster," and this poem was born.

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