Meatgrinder

Feeling trapped in my own skin

Butcher's slab.
Fatty white meat.
I want it split
violently
like a smashed pomegranate.

Why would there exist a creature that hates itself?

The viscera, the extra space.
Dough-padded, safely insulated.
Stupid in its raw existence.
Grossly overextending boundaries.
Hatred. Rage.

Why does a blood-filled body
feel as though a cage?