Poem On: Day 29

Zygarde (#718)

The squishy question mark I was
when you caught me. Sun-starved.
Zero per cent complete. Called
a few friends and I was a dog.
No one, but something. More friends
still, quite by accident, made me
a serpent crowned with swords,
nightmare sign poised at the edge
of a sailor’s map or tarot pack.
To be half yourself is a monster.
When I stopped  hating people
I found the last of me. The great
defender, every cell a partisan
gathered in Belleau Wood
for a last push to tear down
their monstrous science,
their statue of what I was.
Probably not whole forever,
but I could earn the light I missed.