Just like other things, too,
Your feet pressing up against my warm calves,
My heart assessing you,
The bodies of flies wrapped in spider's web,
Making my daughter squirm,
Her feet crushing insects she'll never know
As she begs me not to fix hook with worm,
The stares of strangers I pass on the street,
We've all been trained this way,
The unheeded cries of your soul's desires,
Slain for this land we've laid,
That can't be changed,
Unless you too are cold,
Resisting the cries of the souls nearest,
Who, too, are just doing what they were told.
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