“The first time it is a mistake”

Tribute – Rypa

I’m bristling with hate again.
I’m edging on destruction.
With no one else to blame.
My own folly my own actions.

A wolf tried making friends with prey
by going vegetarian,
as if once you had changed your ways,
they suddenly would let you in.

I filed my teeth down hoping that
would help me fit among them,
as if they’re able to forget
that I’m a fucking monster.

A living mummy from the bog,
a relic of extinction.
They’d hunt me down like a dog,
making no distinctions.

My brother Rypa is correct. We can’t relate to humans. To them – we are an artifact. To us – they are a nuisance.

They are destructive like racoons
and vicious like chimpanzees.
Primates that learned to kill as soon
as they climbed down from the trees.

The very code by which we’re bound
is obsolete to them, and thus
there can be no common ground
with those who outcompeted us.

I cannot win a long lost war.
I cannot bring my species back.
My magic’s powerless before
relentless pecking of their packs.

The first time it is a mistake. The second – it is self abuse. If I have any bread to break I won't be breaking it with you.

They repay loyalty with betrayal.
And god forbid you do them nice.
Turn your back to their females –
they’ll slit your throat, gouge out your eyes.

Hairless apes out of control.
His Godship’s harbingers of hell.
They have no tolerance at all
for those who differ from themselves.

They have no tolerance within.
Get them together – and guts fly.
I’m not their kin, I don’t fit in.
I am ashamed I even tried.

The first time it is a mistake. The second – it is self abuse. If I have any bread to break I won't be breaking it with you.

My brother Rypa is correct. We can’t relate to humans. To them – we are an artifact. To us – they are a nuisance.

I think I’d rather go extinct
than feast with you in your mead-hall.
I will not touch the blood you drink.
I’m not a cannibal, that’s all.

Thank you for all the fish. Be well.
I’ll shut the door on my way out. First born of Lilim, Genviel.

P.S. And to you, Rypa, a shout out!

About Julie Deshtor

Julie Deshtor grew up in the Soviet Union during the turbulent 90's, and moved to the United States shortly after the Soviet Empire collapsed in 1991. A bilingual author, Julie writes both fiction and poetry, as well as translating poetry and lyrics. She brings her rich cultural and life experienced to her fiction, exploring the psychological struggles of her characters with compassion and insight, as they navigate the murky waters of the modern society. Julie currently resides in Utah, USA. Her interests include art, world literature, zoology, anthropology and urban subculture
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