They expect us to love with our brains
Because we are not animals;
They expect us to paint the intricate sunshine,
Not hunt with our nostrils.
Because we have faces, not snouts,
Flat with shrunken jaws.
Because we have nails, not claws;
And hands and feet, not paws.
But the brain is the primate, it is the animal,
Not always savage, often tender;
The heart is a muscle, not a demigod.
We shed like a snake, our skin is leather.
The brain is flesh, not a ghost.
Skin is nerves and nerve endings;
It breathes through its pores,
And is self-mending.