USELESS CREATURE

I'm declared with the word—useless,

Seemed I fit in that dress,

Called useless, so usefully.

It clung to me,

hugging my body,

pressing against my skin.

Really, that word—

useless.

It was made for me.

After all,

the word useless

is at least useful

to the useless creature.

But—

What do you think lies

beneath the attire of useless?

Within the thick, thinking skin?

Oh, I see.

I really can.

The starvation,

The shame,

The fire.

The starvation for success,

hoping it would tear away

this clinging, suffocating dress.

The shame,

knowing how perfectly

"useless" fitted

this aimless body.

The fire,

burning beneath the outer shell,

raging to consume

the shame,

the starvation—

To destroy the useless attire,

so fiercely,

so utterly,

that it may never

be reincarnated.