Dissection

A Poem

Why do the pieces

Never seem to fit?

No matter how much

I force them into their place

They refuse to comply.

They stick out like

Silver hairs in a sea of inky black.

Jagged rocks that jut from glassy water.

Or a square peg tilting awkwardly

From a round hole.

Why do I never fit?

Why are my pieces

So glaringly apparent,

So painfully visible,

So obvious to any naked eye.

Why?

Such is the story

Of my life:

To forever be the outsider;

To eternally be the one

Who is laughed at

And talked about.

The one who is dissected

Into bits and pieces of

“She's pretty, but…”

“She seems nice, but…”

“And did you see her

-Clothes

-Skin

-Hair

-Makeup

-Smile

-Body

-Tits

-Ass

-Teeth

-Eyes

-Nose

-Shoes?”

Discussed.

Objectified.

Torn apart bit by bit.

Shredded into

A million pieces

That will never go back

Where they belong.

Pieces that will

Never again fit.

Pieces that I will pick up

And sew together into armor,

So the next time you choose to

Tear me apart,

I will be absolutely

Fucking untouchable.

-kris johnston-