Human Up.

She sits with her legs wrapped about each other,
toes to knee’s. A puncture hole on the inside of her elbow
where a pint of blood was taken, morally banking it
because she’s knows the day will come where maybe she’ll need the blood of a stranger.
And how could you justify your life being saved,
if you shy’d away from donating because you’re “not that fond” of needles.
Weakness, but socially acceptable. Much like the way,
people crush spiders on the daily. Maybe
we should not destroy a helpless smudge,
just because we don’t like the way it looks.
There’s a whole live thing under your thumb or up the hoover.
It doesn’t eat our food, or damage things, or get its
shit covered legs all over your babies snacks. (Flies.)
We are so aesthetically selfish.
Just a joke, no more, I’ve got a friend who’s (Insert ethnicity/sexuality.)
Sorry to break your mirrored world, darling,
but I’ve lost friends who’re (insert ethnicity/seuality)
all for the sake of your humour,
where’s the humanity.

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