What Man Made
By Max Kay
Has nature died in this ribcage man made
From plasticine, too perfect to be pure?
A mother’s love untouched can stay afloat—
I cut mine out a year ago to make
More space for violence like I’m meant to do.
Although machines may not be waterproof
At least I am my own creation too.
I understand why love means opening
The abdomen and hating what you see.
My innards tipped over the mouldy tile,
I stuffed the wound with cotton wool, no, steel,
For I have built my body to be best,
Not in the way that God had willed it though
My God, is it not human to be false?
And formed from copper wire, nuts and bolts?
Dear Mother, aren't I human to pollute?
With latex skin, and fishing line for veins,
And eyes that sparkle when I don't forget
To charge the battery pack before I feel
The type of thing that asks for smiling eyes?
And Mother, I made sure I still have tears
To water all my plants with when you cry
How could I render myself so profane?
Well Mother, you and I are not the same.
Look God, look Mother, I am what man made—
The apple of his ravenous design.
The self-constructed sycophantic line.
Max Kay (they/he) is a young creative living in Australia whose work is informed by their experiences as a mixed ethnicity and genderqueer person. They write about liminal spaces, caged animals, and feeling not-quite-human. When not trying to disappear into the wilderness to become a cryptid, Max can be reached on Instagram @whoismaxk
Leave a Reply.