They call me a beast,
Better suited to the wilderness,
Out of sight and out of mind,
Poking fun at my snout and feral grimace,
And my growls of nonsense during dialogue,
Derisively patting me upon my bestial mane,
It’s true that I feel lesser,
I’m subhuman,
Flea-ridden,
I stumble across societal rules on all fours,
I’m a flawed simulacrum of a man,
Despoiled by minotaur horns and lizard eyes,
It’s not possible to tame a wild creature,
And my pelt isn’t worth mounting,
So leave me to my slavering and howling,
I’m hardly domesticated,
So why not run free?
I am a beast after all.
WorldofHarley 
Well written….
Thank you my friend! Much too kind. ☺️
The Oldschool Harlequin