Poetry (words)

Meat


I am sentient. I eat I sleep I shit. I graze on this land. I am beaten, I am milked, cut and hanged on your orders, by your hands. That’s the irrelevance of who I am. 

What’s the difference between you and me? From where I stand it has nothing to do with intelligence. Admittedly where I stand is encased with a stench of every horror you inflict. 

If I could scream I would be heard on every corner of this planet, if I could fight you’d be crushed underfoot, but I possess neither ability. So I await my fate here at your side with your god given rights. 

If I could  offer you a glass of every chemical you inject, would you drink what you eat on my behalf? This cold chalice of medium rare that spills on every prison I’ve seen.

Meat? It’s what you’re made of. 

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