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These are the voices we've taken...I wanted to write something straight from the heart
I've been reading a lot so I know
That I feel things for people I will never meet
For the things in their lives that I cannot take back
For the stolen childhoods
The ruined dreams
The tainted bodies
The scarred remains
I feel something for people I will never know
And I felt like writing it down, so here goes…
I was “friend bullied” as a child, my problems are different from yours
Yet statistically speaking I got let off light
No one was interested in touching me
No one wanted to know my name
I was invisible, a puppet on strings, told what to do
And I constantly think that this somehow
Shaped my life
Made me who I am today
That without this trauma, I'd be someone else
That I don't want to be, despite hating myself
I feel like my problems aren't as bad as yours but that just isn't true
No bullying is fair, or just or right
It's not OK to ignore, it's not boys being boys
It's not girls growing up
It's fucking torture
Run, run as fast as you can,
I'll catch you and turn you into gingerbread men
So hide in your houses of straw, sticks and bricks
Get going, little piggies, lickety split
I'll find you and roast you, and turn you into bags
Your houses can't hide you
Not the mirror of truth can hide you from me
And I see straight through your breadcrumb trickery
So climb up the castle, I'll level the place
Run into the forest, and I will give chase
I'll hunt you, and stab you and rip out your heart
No spell can hide you, I'll tear you apart
Run into the castle, my dragons are waiting
Hide under the cradle, rock-a-by baby
You've wronged me, little angels
Little princes of lore
But I'm out and I'm angry
Let's settle the score
With a whole host of villains I'll come for your heads
And I'll grind your bones to make my bread
I will grab you by the hairs of your chinny-chin-chins
Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your faces in!
An Ode to the Last Ray of Sunlight
An Ode to the Last Ray of Sunlight (to be Found Long After I'm Dead)
A land that is free,
Well, that's what we're told anyway.
A government of total control,
Uniting the world as one whole nation
Stamping out unwanted kinks and knots
In the country's pristine surface.
They say we've come so far, to have such
A blessed life.
That is, unless
You're one of the kinks
As you might have guessed I am.
For us, there is another fate;
Someone has to keep the world clean.
At night, past curfew, when half the planet sleeps
We're the ones - the knots and bumps -
That find the kinks; that clean the roads; that kill the sick, so you can breathe
The fresh, clean air of privilege
When you wake up the next day.
For anyone who has ever thought differently,
Has sought out Utopia as defined by their own unique ideals,
All that awaits is darkness;
Dirty water, soggy bread,
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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