Made of Flerovium

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People like to talk about how

other people are instrumental in the world.

They call their friends imporant "elements" of life,

which has always interested me.

In fact, if people are elements, 

I would be like Flerovium.

Synthetic, unexpectedly volatile, unnatural,

and seemingly not very useful, but that's none of my business.

After all, I'm not a scientist.

 

When I look at myself in a picture, 

all I see is Flerovium.

No flesh, no styled hair, no structured bone-

just some arbitrary element,

which is, not coincidentally, my position in the human race.

Everything I see in myself, 

with or without makeup,

is arbitrary anyway.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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