O Love! thou makest all things even
In earth or heaven;
Finding thy way through prison-bars
Up to the stars;
Or, true to the Almighty plan,
That out of dust created man,
Thou lookest in a grave,--to see
Thine immortality!

So, you've read my poetry?
You've skimmed the lines and picked out words you think are pretty,
delicate, intelligent, or odd?
You understand me now, I see!
I'm yours to dissect, pick at, ****,
but never keep, of course not that.

Yes you've read my poetry,
but did you know I sometimes cross my l's as t's and often wish
to travel far and far alone.
Alone: myself and only me.
I'd adventure, danger-prone;
You would only slow me down.

So what if sometimes late at night I want to dance on balconies and feel your breath upon my ear?
That really doesn't matter
for I don't need you, and you don't want me,
even though you've read my poetry.

Lies are lullabies
Sweet songs that we sing
To ourselves and to others
Trying to convince ourselves
That something isn't our fault
That our world is more utopian than
Reality allows for
We tell ourselves that
It's better to live a lie
Than face the harsh world
Without our emerald glasses
Or maybe everything we believe
In is a lie*
The faerie tales have even been
Changed to suit our own needs
Pretty ballgowns and sparkling glass shoes
Forget the truths of rags, dirt, blood and filth
The romance still remains
But the glamorous side is tougher
More truthful, less plastic
The grime and dirt gives the story life
These Disney-fied, prettied up stories
Are just machine made, molded
Plastic. Commercialised. Dead.
And they spell faerie wrong too

The problem with bright futures
Is that they grow as dull as everything else.
They too collect dust,
Hold every speck of dirt they can find -
Until you wake one morning and realise you are trapped.

See the walls have crept closer
And the ceilings leant down to hug the floor.
But they're only there to support you,
Because they love you so,
And they do not see their embrace can crush.