Sometimes you don’t like yourself, a poem

You never cared for that color “Hunter” green—it reminds you of camouflage caps
and clunky boots, complements to a mix of blood with dirt. God save deerfur. Humanfur.

And yet

those hands that never held a gun never gripped a vice attach to arms that only cross, a heart
that buh-bums for no one, a mouth that spits only swears.