Positions were identified,

The moment he took my name,

And robbed me of my rights.

The mug-shooter had me in his scope,

The bright flash branded me like a hot iron prod.

He stripped me of my individuality,

Catalogued me state property

And warehoused me.

 

The Bastard system,

Who’s own father denies it.

Swindled my humanity

And deemed me another of its captives.

He clenched me in its crooked and decaying teeth,

But no matter how hard my spirit thrashed against his hold,

There was no escape.

 

My dignity now buried

Beneath the confines of a generic uniform.

I, the next edition in a string of paper dolls

Injected in an airless glass box,

Too big for burial, too small for life.