A Word from Hank

If I didn't believe in poetic justice,
I would grow the nails in all of my fingers
long enough so I can scratch your eyeballs
from where I sit in the corner of the pantry.

You look at me as if I were a monster
when the truth is I am The Beast in many a story
where prejudice imperils the lives of those of us
who were born with some ability, feared by others
because people fear what they don't understand.

And what you do not see is we, too, are afraid.