Other.

I am...unnatural,
as I cock my head to the side, and trace
your movements with my eyes, so that I
can learn your dance, and imitate,
with my own awkward movements and
uncoordinated gestures, (and all because
I'm afraid of the stick you'd hit me with
when you knew I was not like you).
Left, left,
           right, right
      left
           right
      left,
///

Not why, nor gently glide, the dance,
nor those ungainly steps I mismatch,
but I sometimes stop to ask, a mistake,
when in my momentary lapse
of concentration, I receive a reminding
blow.


At night, in the peace of a moon-lighted room
I watch you dance in your sleep, the measured,
natural pace of life flowing in and out
and all around you, and I nervously caress my wounds,
and examine my scales and hope to gods
they don't creep out into the open.