we are the aliens. we walk onto the land of new worlds as if we have lived there all our lives, but we have not. we kill those who live there for they are different to us. their lives are foreign, and we are afraid. our first words to them? our promise? 'we come in peace.' it is the mantra we repeat, both to them and to ourselves, as blood stains our hands and our carefully pressed, standard issue uniforms. the truth is we do not come in peace. we come in chaos. we come hoping to find someone like ourselves and when we do not? we revolt. we as a people are so desperate to see ourselves. our vanity is clear as we spend hours looking in mirrors, snapping pictures. it is clearer still in our everlasting hope for an alternate universe, another humanoid race to match our own. we want only what we cannot have, for an alien race would no longer be alien if we were the same. the aliens we find are vastly different. to them, we are the aliens. that is not what we wanted. not at all.
YOU ARE READING
a last note from your narrator
Poetrypeople write because no one listens - h.h. a collection of short stories written in various points in my life. mostly bad points. fair warning. title from the book thief by markus zusak i...
