Whistle
How can one sound make me feel so empty?
It shoots into my stomach.
Confusion strikes my heart.
Shock pumps through my veins
And fear soaks into my brain.
Eyes crawl on my skin.
Tongues salivate.
But I walk faster
And don't look back.
Human
You say that we are pretty little things; many porcelain dolls.
But if we were truly made out of porcelain,
You wouldn't break us.
Are we plastic dolls instead,
Items to bend, twist and fondle?
Actually,
We are neither.
Our Interior
We are eyes ears noses and mouths.
Soft flesh shielding bones and muscles.
Hearts that pump blood through our veins.
Lungs that suck in
And suck out the air.
Electric nerves that run to and from our zapping brains.
We are much more
Than the exterior
Of our bodies.