Feirr

That there, that's not me

I go where I please

I walk through walls

I float down the Liffey

I'm not here

This isn't happening

In a little while, I'll be gone

The moment's already passed

It's gone

I'm not here

This isn't happening

I'm not here

Why do they ridicule ugliness? Nothing is born on this Earth with the sole task of being pleasant to the eye. We simply are.

And why is nakedness something to be shunned? We are all born nude. There is no shame in bearing only the coat that is your own.

Have the furry ones made them insecure? Speaking of fur, why have they lost so much of their own over time? Won't they be cold?

Why is their form now generally more disadvantageous in the wild? How are most so comfortable knowingly altering so many other beings forever? How are most so comfortable domesticating even themselves?

Are they aware? Do they know? Why don't they know? Are they not oh-so intelligent? If they are, why do they persist in seeing themselves as vastly superior and different to other earthlings?

My questioning is never-ending. I pretend to understand because I must, but none of if makes sense.

This detached hand in a distant realm keeps taking with such haste, before my vessel catches up and takes a step on its own.

I am languidly content to always imagine, and feel, and hear, that which I don't.

And so, much like a stone, I never truly move, until I am moved.

I am full of tears and hunger and the fear of death, although I cannot weep, and I want nothing, and I cannot die.

I am not like the others now, for no unicorn was ever born who could regret, but I do.

I regret.