"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation"
Fighting the blanket of oppression
Within and without themselves
The metaphorical blanket holding them
To a goal that is not of themselves
Tied to be someone they are not,
Trying to fill the wrong size shoes
Life planned out by superiors
Blinded by tinted glasses of lie and
False truths put on by others preceding
This suffocating blanket restricts and constricts
And holds the victim to one forced idea
Like blinders on a horse
Or a blindfold on a magician
Only a narrow, yet clear path is provided
A leap of faith must be taken to discover 'self'

Isn't it interesting how the
Fountain of Youth
Elixir of Life
And Tree of Knowledge
Fill the spread of faerie tales,
Legends, and myths, but
We have no
Fountain of Age
Elixir of Death
Or Tree of Ignorance?
Sure they aren't usually helpful,
But they'd make for some
Cool plot twists.
The protagonist accidentally
Eating fruit of the Tree of Ignorance
And forgetting his purpose and self
Only to be reminded by
His companion or leading lady.
The evil wizard drinking from
The Fountain of Age by fluke
And crumbling away into dust
A young hero or heroine
Searching for the Elixir of
Death to end misery of theirs, or anothers

Hand lacerations
Are absolutely no fun.
Especially when on
The dominant hand
But somehow the slash
In *******,
The spread of pink in dishwater
The dark red welling up
And spilling over
Somehow through the
Majority of calm after a
Brief freak-out
Somehow this stifles my
Desire to mutilate
This horrendous lust that
I do not want and
Barely can control
So now my handwriting
*****, my fingers hurt,
These cuts are a nuisance
But my repugnant hunger
Has been tamed...
What's wrong with me?!

I have never
Danced in a
Pitch black room
With the smell
Of flowers
Everywhere.
I only dance
In the rain, a
Clean, and icy
Catharsis
I only dance
In a dark and
Hot gym for
Homecoming
With friends all
Around
I am not the
Most graceful or
Original, as I stumble
And lose rhythm
And simply sway or spin
Nevertheless, I
Dance

In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm
A dish falls, shatters
A shriek tears the relative silence
Pale pink blood blossoms in the water
While rich red blood wells up in the hand
Tears falling like a blinding waterfall
Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain
Blood and pain and tears fill the mind
A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red
Panting sobs and hyperventilation
Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER
Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed,
Previously lacerated toes
Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING
Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist
Focus on nothing, only the hand
The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt
Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy
The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times
A nurse asks if I smoke or drink
A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy
And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering
The corruption of the modern generations,
Such that I am asked these questions
Any friend of mine would quickly tell that
No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are?
Then I am whisked from the x-ray room
Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut
That I need stitches
The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied
A doctor probes the wound for shards
Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine
Both renew the flow
Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away
Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze,
And a roll of medical tape
Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given
A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed
Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother
I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance
First time the splint and stitches are gone,
Doctor number two declares my hand usable
First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits
So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless

You said you'd always protect me
And that you'd never hurt me
That you'd love me and hold me
And I was your precious.
But can you protect me from yourself?
My missing you and crying inside
Pretending to be stronger than I am
A defiant faerie, who wants no help
Pushed over and pushed around
I fight back and get up every time
Persist and hold my ground
But you still have yet to show mercy
Perhaps you don't know, but I
I am still subject to your blows and graces
And still defy those stronger

Poor kitty cat, crazy dazed cheshire cat
Thinks by offing the parents
The offspring offed will be
So scratches both the top and roots
Of this family tree
This disillusioned kitty cat
Can't seem to understand
That by scratching a leg
You do not bite a hand
This addled backwards kitty
Has much to learn these days
And harsh admonitions
This ***** do not faze