under a table,

behind the door

where nothing is cleaned

not even the floor.

there, lies a body,

collected with dust

piled under splinters, cobwebs, and rust.


its breathing, though ceased,

by a soul, never noticed

the family moves on

never wishing to know it.

roaches and rats snigger with glee,

as the body decays,

first a hand, then a knee.


but, a moment's not passed,

when a slam of the door

finds that He has returned,

to take one thing more.

He looks and he scowls,

finding, perhaps, one thing of use...

a leg of the thing

he once had abused,


"Good for a table,

this leg might be!

but its so sickly, and thin,

what use is it to me?"

he examined the leg,

for a minute or less

and finally said,

with no shortage of breath


"what good were you girl? you did nothing for me.

not this house, not this wallet...

not this family!

for you sat and you sulked,

and you fell on the floor,

and it was quite hard to hide

that you looked such a sore.

and you'd cry and you moan,

until finally you stopped,

but even then, you'd not budge

for a sponge or a mop!

what good were you,

to exist in this way?

where you slept in a bed,

for which, i had to pay?

if you left us much sooner,

before we could see

your bruised little leg and dis-located knee,

we might have not stopped you

from growing so vast,

if you had been good,

if you had worked fast!

But, if you had died,

and we knew then

what we do now,

we could have left you

much sooner, you cow!

but since you've survived,

and we've taken your all,

We must do it ourselves,

and bury you whole."


and the girl, as she slumped

on those wooden floorboards,

did not kick or punch,

or demand her own words,


for she knew how He felt,

when he saw such a sight,

her skin and her bones, were,

Oh!

quite a fright...

but she did decide

that she'd mention one thought,

for it left and gone

without once being taught.


And this was who she was

cracks, bones, and skin,

with wishes and hopes,

in loss or win.


for the love of all

she, weekly, would pray,

that she might be able

to love one, someday.

she looked up once more,

to the hand holding her knee,

and she spoke such a truth,

which made her instantly free:


"you knew me not here,

nor when i was born,

and certainly not now,

though, my legs, you have torn.


Look at this body,

my blue skin and bones,

and KNOW there's one thing

you never have known!

that this sunken-in skull,

which longed for a dream,

within it, still lives

some incredible things!


Though leaving this world,

though no good for you,

though, you threw me your scraps,

if you threw just a few,

I'll fly and I'll live

past all of your years,

you have not a soul,

you shed not a tear!


O, timeless I'll be,

despite lack of drink

but look at you, sir,

your head does not think!

Yes!

Look at me now,

while withered

I may be,

and know this you bore,

you never knew me!"