"Lego Bodies"

A beast tore off my mouth the other day,

and left me in the alley.

It tore off my arms and legs,

and left me in the gutter.

Try as I did, I could not speak,

could not walk, could not move.

Why must we be the ones to rip apart

our Lego bodies?

To dissasemble what has already been perfected?

I was just fine until that beast tore me apart.

I lay there, Silent as Death, waiting

for that beast to return what it had stolen.

When it did return, the bones in my arms were broken.

The beast reconnected my legs, but they faced the wrong direction.

When my mouth was finally put back on my face,

my tongue was upside-down.

Reassmbled, but imperfect and broken, I tried to rearrange myself

to the way I was before.

The beast only looked at me and mourned

for the mistake it had made.

Why must we be the ones to rip apart

our Lego bodies?

To dissasemble what has already been perfected?