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Cyclops
In Greek Mythology, Cyclops were one-eyed giants living on an island as shepherds. Ulysses and his men, while visiting the island, were captured by the cyclops, Polyphemus. Ulysses got Polyphemus drunk on wine, then stabbed him in the eye with a stake and escaped.


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Society preaches about perfection--
from the stilettoed legs prancing
a fashion runway, to flawless faces
in the lustrous pages of an in-vogue magazine.
Even the accoutrements of civility are trained,
like the garments shaped to look their best
adorning an amorphous metal rod.
To society I am but a cyclops in hiding,
like Polyphemus, with a one-eyed visage.
My body hides from the public behind
a blinking view of the world’s net, where
I can pretend that isolation equals protection.

Invading presences crowd my private space,
as they quiver in prejudicial disdain.
They claim me to be an irresponsible monster,
a societal flaw to be tut-tutted, and fixed.
They aim their spears of generalized terminology --
such as lazy, fat, unhealthy, or obese --
with a knowing look and self-righteous glibness.
With all well-meaning intent, they aim their stakes
to pierce the element causing them offence.
They prescribe a wine of magic shakes and pills,
but they never look past the outward affliction
to the heart continually breaking within.