I am alien

I am alien

Even to myself

With little to reason

In appearance

I am as lost

As the poppy

Among tulips

Cut me down

I say.

It would be easier

Than curating my presence

I am a stranger

To kindness

There is no end to my discomfort

Regardless

Of appearance

Though it may please

The eye

It is not to be tolerated.

If I might ask,

What happens

To the stalks once cut

Will they be

Appreciated

Under glass

Are we as the butterfly?

Pinned

Admired as curiosities

Displayed

Within narrow confines.

I find myself

Pausing

In contemplation

Of life.

It is the lot of strangers,

Perhaps I am one,

To be undervalued

A penny for them

My guess is

You will

Be unwilling

To share,

Step aside

Or trade places.

Familiarity

Can bind us to our

Station and

We all fear

Becoming unmoored