Pass for Human - a poem about outgrowing the space you're in
Pass for Human
Moody as the clouds rolling over this Halloween moon,
I'm not the greatest company tonight.
In a room full of dancing and laughter,
I move in slow motion between the dancers,
unnoticed in my melancholy haze.
The faces are familiar but it all feels so different.
Certain words feel misplaced
and I just don't fit in this space.
I could play the game until the veil thinned—
could get along and pass for human.
Now my fangs are clear to see
if only they would look at me.
Thank goodness they don't look at me.
I slip out the sliding door
and into the arms of the night.
I dart between the fog on the street
and obscure myself behind light posts
as children pass by at their most merry.
These costumed kids should not be told
of what lies ahead when they grow old.
I could function as a warning label
or a crimson road type of instructional video.
The kind that traumatizes more than it helps.
But I'm here to save myself on this particular All Hallows' Eve.
They'll get no wisdom or guidance from the likes of me.
It's best if I keep making ground,
sharp teeth hidden by my frown.
I don't know where the moon will lead me.
I have no map and no one like-minded beside me.
Settling into the darkness is as scary as it is comforting,
like giving birth or being born
and facing the cold and unforgiving unknown.
I stalk serenity but compulsively creep.
I yearn for rest but cannot risk sleep.
I'll don this cloak, perform this smoke and mirrors show
if it means surviving till the stark morning—
learning to live in the light,
teeth bared and claws out.