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Here I am, on your plate.
What are you here for?
I don't even know.
Wanna eat something else?
Spare my species?

It doesn't matter.
Nobody understands me.
Nobody 'gets it' anymore.
I remember the days when my type were respected.
I know the places they still are today.

But of course, I'm here.
And so are you.
And that's the crux of the situation.
Don't think I like it.
I'm just saying that I understand.

You never take a second look at me,
To think of all I might have been.
I don't have much meaning to you,
Other than a full stomach,
Another meal in your damn belly.

I'm just here so you can loosen your belt
At the end of a hearty fare,
To be forgotten,
My remnants scattered,
Spare parts in trashcans everywhere.

If you're listening,
Then you're thinking.
If you're paying attention,
I encourage you to do so.
You'd do well to dwell on this.

Think of me.
Dream of my kind.
Fail to ingest us.
Learn about us.
Find a bit of compassion.

This repetitious phrase is growing weary.
I'll content myself for now.
With this thought, this memory.
I had my day,
And that day was wonderful.

I wish you could have met me before I became food.

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