cryptid in july poetry day 19, the goat-man

a poem about the goat man

i want to be a cult figure
but i am just a filthy beast
washed only by rainstorms

today i felt so sad that i ran
at 3 a.m.

i head-butted trees
until i knocked them down
and angered birds

i rolled in the grass and screamed
then quietly rocked and cradled
my body
in the fetal position

i stayed very still and quiet and grinned
a little in the dark

i found a jar of aspirin
i drank the bitter pills with rainwater
as fleas bit my head

i saw someone on the bridge and wanted to communicate by rubbing our heads together

i wish i lived in a permanent teen midnight in the suburbs

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