Being Weird Poem by Tureygua Inaru

I was born of pain
from the moment my mother's screams
reverberated across whiteness
and she pushed me into this world.

No—I lied.
The legends say that my progenitor
reaped what she sought soundlessly…
that she lay down in a lonely wheat field
and made me exist
as silent tears seared across her eyes.

They used to say I was like her
with my set jaw, dead-fish stare
and weird habits.

As I spread my wings
they came at me with pitchforks
so I fled from town after town
before realizing
they could see my silhouette in the sky.

And like my mother
who, in later years,
thought the pain of procreation
afforded her cruelty
so in pain have I become pretentious.
Now they say I hold my weird chin too high.

I'm done trying to convince them
that I'm a noble savage.
My demons are enlightened.
I've built myself a temple of self-love
stronger than the songs of angry cannons.
I don't need Mom to tell me
I'm beautiful.