I'm Not Food
By Sky Raven
An Animal Rights Poem from All-Creatures.org

They called my mother, “Pork Chop,” to them I’m the next slice of meat. I don’t really see how, just like them I breathe and eat. I even have to sleep, even though I’m scared to. They beat me every day, to get me out my cage. You’d be scared too, and if not then you’d engage. That’s called self-defense mode, but see me, I’m just a slave. I smelled my mother on his breath, just the other day. In his body she decays, hastening his grave. That’s my only payback; I guess that’s nature’s way. I guess karma is like a dog that has a mean bite. Maybe that’s why I’m here, for something in my last life. I wouldn’t wish this on the worst, a mean deadly curse. They want my flesh and blood, and it’s not enough to quench their thirst, so for me every day, is filled with pain. On his pant legs are bloodstains, they’re heavy on my brain and the fear of is it my turn, am I the next one to be slain, because I am not food. You are violent.

But they only want for my legs and breasts. So they’re quick to chop me up as they maim my chest. My family is name-less, they name the fearful after me. I guess that makes sense, it’s
only pain and fear I see. I’m only bred to feed their greed, so they snatch up my seeds, before they have a chance to breathe; and even if they decide to let the babies survive, they chop off their beaks to preserve the meat inside. That’s like chopping off your nose to spite your face, cuz they don’t even have love for their own, the human race, so my fate is sealed. From the field to the meal, I don’t know how living feels. I know these lesions get deep and every day I bleed. I know if I had a chance, I’d leave this coop and freed. I know, a stretched imagination, freakin’ hard to believe. A visionary sees things most aren’t ready to receive, but anything conceived and believed can be achieved, because I am not food! You are violent.

My breasts are always full and my nipples are sore, and when I finally empty them out I always fill up with more. My calves are all gone so I don’t know why, but I keep making milk and when I stop I die. How long my baby survives, depends on their gender. They starve the bulls for their milk, they like it real tender. The cows get treated like me, clearly not great. They use us for our milk, our skins, our beef, our steak. Even bullshit is a commodity. I’m not life I’m property. I survive unremarkably, as food, what a fallacy. Animal meat is unhealthy to the humans who consume it, who are dying from diseases wondering why they go through it. For the profits of the farmers, and pharmaceutical beasts, whose profits are more important than the lives now deceased. Whether animal or human, we all strive to survive. When we respect each other’s lives that’s when this family will thrive, because I am not food. You are violent.

About Sky Raven The Vegan Poet
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