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True selfI hide my true self under neath my skin
I bare my teeth they will no show through
I hide my self from friends and family
They will not know so they can't said it is not so
I'm getting tired of the judging of people when I change a little
They say this is not you but it is me you won't let me be my true creature I am
I show my claws and you say put those away they are fake
I am in a cage in this body with not the true identy
I start to claw my face ripping off the layers of flesh you humans have given me
The sound of the tearing of flesh helps me continue my transformation while I'm in the cage
That you people locked me in to hide the true me
People stare unbeliever of whom I am as the skin falls to the bottom of the cage with a gory sound
I step forward to show my true self
My claws show
My teeth grinning with no hold back
My eyes glow for the truth of what I am
My pointed ears listen for justice of my freedom of the true me
My hair stands up for a fight that I will when in the end of
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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