by Nick Gisburne
My creature costume won’t be coming off.
I’d rather be a monster than a man.
Despise me, if it makes you happy. Scoff.
At least I have a focus, and a plan.
I’ve only ever wanted to be free,
And flying through the sky will do it, right?
You’ll never find a bird who looked at me
And thought, “I need that sack of skin, tonight.”
A bird, though? Off the table. Don’t be daft.
But ‘prehistoric predator’ is not.
Those dinosaur-o-phobic fuckwits laughed.
I couldn’t give a shiny shade of snot.
I’m shopping at the supermarket. Squawk.
I’m not a nutter. This is how I talk.
