chartreuse

I was born with the immunity to poison.

I know because my taste buds reject it.

My throat rejects it, my stomach; me.

I am the reject.

And forever I am judged.

Lackluster of adventure and liberty,

A traitor to my generation and rite of passage.

I have failed in some way

I cannot genetically fathom.

My tongue will not admit foreign chemicals;

It is like welcoming offense into a sacred temple.

The sin scorches my throat, burning with a heat

That can only end in charred remains,

The destroyed structure of a house fire.

This liquid does not douse; it does not revitalize.

It hinders. It makes me fearful.

My mind develops a dizzy persona,

The spiciness of this beverage asserts itself,

And I can only bend at the order.

Only one or I will become someone else.

If I don’t inject myself, I am no one.

I don’t know who I am, so I continue to raise my glass.