by Lauren Bruty
Walls pulse, comrades flee, and the light shines away. I grasp the inverted as always. The blood flows faster for me, even within tranquility. I sense and feel in a more powerful way than thou, and my interpretations are skewed from actuality. Choice and decision were not upon my doorstep for the arrival of It. The development crawled ever so slightly over the calendar: then alas! So silent was the encroachment that until It was named, It was not noticed. Simply there, within my body, within my self; I recognised It as I.
I have always seen that which you have not, and that which you do not see grows the festered scab upon my being. But It has now been named, and the shame has been revealed. All can observe the contortions and laugh upon them. All can stigmatise the reality. Such a confusion: I have always held this about myself, it has not ever been secret. Yet, once a word has been placed upon my normality, I am grotesque, I am manipulative, I am dangerous, I am inhuman, in their eyes. Can naught see the cloud of fear which lingers behind me? I can see anger where none resides, and I respond accordingly. This makes me a beast. Well, I proclaim this comrade: the beasts are human, too.