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This part of my day is called A Fistful of Muddy Mushrooms Because I feel like the embodiment of something edible, yet poisonous; Pure, yet filthy, putrid, covered in the refuse of plants that die. Maybe they should have refused to die, Maybe they should have Tried to reach their leaves up and up until an ant at the bottom felt like they were BIG ENOUGH And a giant thought they were just the right size for dinner salad, Because when I speak, My heart strangles my vocal chords, And my words sound much less of the perfect role model I really am. How could I not be? I serve young minds and cater to small minds, Much smaller than those they serve. No one told me that growing up would R.I.P the arms off my former child self, Dangle the appendages in front of me, while I watch monster after monster Eat my flesh. Slowly. Delicately. Like a dessert. I wanted to grow up to be a kid. I got my wish. At the cost that I Do Not Belong to the good graces of the Good People around me and all of us scattered like leaves on the ground.
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Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
The Fall of Someone (still) Small
This part of my day is called A Fistful of Muddy Mushrooms Because I feel like the embodiment of something edible, yet poisonous; Pure, yet filthy, putrid, covered in the refuse of plants that die. Maybe they should have refused to die, Maybe they should have Tried to reach their leaves up and up until an ant at the bottom felt like they were BIG ENOUGH And a giant thought they were just the right size for dinner salad, Because when I speak, My heart strangles my vocal chords, And my words sound much less of the perfect role model I really am. How could I not be? I serve young minds and cater to small minds, Much smaller than those they serve. No one told me that growing up would R.I.P the arms off my former child self, Dangle the appendages in front of me, while I watch monster after monster Eat my flesh. Slowly. Delicately. Like a dessert. I wanted to grow up to be a kid. I got my wish. At the cost that I Do Not Belong to the good graces of the Good People around me and all of us scattered like leaves on the ground.
thisbirdgirl
Written by
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
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