I couldn’t help my parentage
My mother mated with a bull.
That isn’t easy to ignore.
People complain, I’ve often heard
Of being seen as less than human,
Treated like an animal.
So where does that leave me? I guess
I must deserve the life I live:
I’m less than human, bestial,
And beasts, of course must be contained
To keep the normal people safe.
I can’t blame anyone for that.
But even though I know that I’m
A monster, in the truest sense:
A man and yet no man at all,
I never wanted to be this
The terrifying Minotaur
Who eats the cream of Athens’ youth
But, in a way, I didn’t mind
At least this is a way to serve
Make myself useful to the king
Who’s not my father. Many would
Have killed the bastard freak, born of
His wife’s perverted tastes. But he
Gave me a purpose. Be the threat
The monster in the cellar. Be
The worst of man and animal.
Sometimes I dream of open air
Of tender grass and gentle breeze
But I am here, and thus I serve
The ones who made me what I am.
Tom Juniper Poetry 