Acrylic Fairytale
The Little Mourning Girl
sits in her corner
a friend of ants and spiders
reading stories of poets
known by no one.
remembering her brother
dead in his matriarch's womb
the way her dragon looked
under the sorcerer's bicycle tires
her favorite unicorn
was missing at feeding time today
struck by an arrow
from the decaying heart of her maker
standing up
feeling herself stumble
she is as alive as a puppet
missing strings
constructed of flesh
of rodents passed away
the ceiling constricting
beginning to reveal the night sky
as the moon shrinks into a corner
of her heart
longing for an exit
she has options she won't take
sometimes none at all
lacking even a hardest way
she once walked through rainstorms
and showers of light
seeping through cracks in the shadows
of her thoughts
not speaking since the day
her sky fell upon her
impaling her soul on a wall of disgust
for all eyes to see
yet no one watched
just walked by thinking
oh, another dead chick on a wall
no one significant enough for recognition
Who is that girl, anyway?
Staring down at the people
feeling nothing
no sympathy
no longer asking to be heard
her spider friend sitting on her shoulder
her ant friends caressing her hair
could this be bliss?
offering a child-like sigh
to anyone who needed to listen
she grinned
her skin cracking
pieces of flesh falling to the ground
arranged as though they read her destiny
a pattern of graceless colors
in an acrylic fairytale.
Poetry index - America's New Song
