I don’t understand the difference
between all of us.
What makes us different?
I don’t understand.
Is it a matter of color,
Of blue skin or green skin or silver skin,
Of purple skin or red skin or pink skin,
Or that of scales or leather or fur?
Or perhaps origin,
Of Martian or Oceanic or even from Moons.
Or is it, instead, an issue of gender,
Of three testicles or one or four vaginas.
It is a complicated thing,
To define humanity.
But perhaps, not too complex,
For we can still peel
the outer layer.
We can still reveal the crimson,
flowing to cover the beating organ,
which controls the solid whites.
The identical intricacies that define
It’s not complex at all.
We are not different,
We are not dissimilar,
We are not opposites,
We are not special,
We are not distinct,
We are not unique.
We are not individuals.
A mass of meat.
In the end, we are all