stealing parts from a graveyard
tuition, enrichment class, music lessons
to fit onto a torso already scarred
smoothing over bumps and lesions
created desperately in a lab
we’re sliced up to fit the seams
so what if parents pick up the tab?
we’re choking on their dead dreams
stumbling in their backyards
struggling to stand on our feet
just to fall like a house of cards.
they dare call us "deadbeats"?
groaning, we pick our scabs,
doing our best to cope with our gifts,
how dare we be so mad
as to even hope for a kiss
all we wanted were bodies whole
instead we’re limbs splinched together
the parts are uneven and full of holes
but we’re the “ungrateful monsters”