Circus Freaks

I stand here

tears dripping

off my face,

yet despite

the crowd 

nobody notices

my sorrow.

They watch and 

jeer,

some fascinated

and others disgusted

by my form.

None of them step out

to rescue me

from this place.

"Monster."

"Freak!"

"Weirdo,"

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'm

only

a

monster.

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.