so there they sit,
drawing like idiots,
without a care in the world.
drooling, coughing, smiling
laughing, shrieking.
like life is an all you can eat buffet.
the things they have to look forward to:
heartbreak, health insurance, taxes, rent, a tedious
job, a loveless marriage, the death of a loved one - and then their own.
so I walk up to them and break their crayons,
to warn them of the evils of this world,
and they cry.
now they know how the world works.
but then then the pretty blonde waitress brings them another crayon.
they stop wailing, get distracted,
move on.
and I'm bitter because a pretty blonde lady isn't handing me any crayons, or paying my rent, or laying in my bed.
and those kids
never worked at Denny's, got evicted, or got their car stolen.
- they have earned nothing.
and those kids
have never had ***, drank beer, climbed a mountain, or carried their lives in a backpack
- they have lived nothing.
and the waitress hands me my receipt,
and I smirk,
because she scribbled a note on it:

"415-555-3827
call me,
Stacy

PS that was the last crayon."

I was the crashing waves,
I was the rip tide,
I was the storm--
The ebb and flow only ever tamed
By the moonlight in his eyes.

But you

You were predictable,
The way you moved so lyrical.
You were both the tree sprout,
And the atomic bomb
That ripped its' roots out.

I was the crash of water into flesh.
I could heal, I could bruise;
Either way, the feeling was always fresh.
There is no soul I won't one day possess,
There is no dream I can't hinder the progress.
Toy with me,
And the oxygen in your lungs will be suppressed,
But, hell, nevertheless...

You are land,
You are plants.
You hold still
Your instability.
But in this/ your insanity
You have no deniability.
You did this to me,
You must finally
Hold some accountability.

Tectonic plates shift
And tear
They rip
Year after year.

What comes from the sea
Can always return to the sea.

The end of you,
The end of me.

My waters will swallow you whole.

A daughter is yours for life.
A son is yours till he gets married.
Dear daughter-in-law,
I very well know,
You are my son's cherished wife,
The LOVE of his life.
You have borne him two beautiful children,
A daughter and son.
You behave dicey,
With his family pricey.
My son,to you I have given away,
That is your right anyway.
In your lives I never want to interfere,
Have not an inch of fear,
With you he is happy,
You,also are a part of the family.
Then why be vindictive,
Jealous and negative?
In my son's presence act the victim,
Pick up a fight at your whim.
Just because for me he cares,
Calling me with affection he dares,
Something cooked by me he expects,
Treats me with love and respect.
Remember, I am his mother,
Not his bother,
Daughter-in-law, let's live amicably on this planet,
Love draw us closer like a magnet.
I want you to be my daughter,
To me relationships matter.

I have a
Cheshire Cat Grin.
Just as mad
Just as eerie.

I have a Cheshire Cat Smile,
I'll coo to you in the wisps of your rage,
"Oh, but didn't you know?"
But you never knew
You never knew,
Did you?

I have a
Cheshire Cat Grin,
Because I am just as mad,
Just as eerie,
Just as innocent,
And just as deadly,
Within the words, the stories I spin,
The webs I weave.

I have a
Cheshire Cat Smile,
And, Darling Dear,
I'm Mad as a Hatter.

Did you hear?
Did you hear?
The crash and the clatter?

Did you see?
Were you there?
When all that red splattered?

I am the
Voice of the Trees at Night,
I am the
Whisper in Your Bones when Panic Takes Flight.

I am the
Cheshire Cat
And honey, look at my smile.
I am the
C
  H
     E
        S
           H
               I
                 R
                    E
(They're burning in the fire!)
                      C
                   A
                T
(What was that?)

Feel the shiver down your spine,
As the air of this toothy feline
Makes you wonder
Where does madness draw the line?

Do you want the answer?
Will you chance her?

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

A person can speak a thousand words
And still fall short of grand or ill works,
Listen well if you will, these may in fact
Be my last statements,
Should I die tomorrow,
Next week,
Next month,
Next year or in decades,
I've written all you can withstand,
Expressed my feelings too soon.
Why should you need to care? I'll write letters of
Apology, sent via telegram from the moon.

I am sharp and dreaded
Blood is dripping from me
Not my blood, no
Someone else's blood
They use me for stabbing.

I am sharp and hidden
Under her pillow
Like a gun
Constantly firing
Keeping her from sleeping.

I am sharp and I like it
Out of her reach
Safely kept in your kitchen drawer
Waiting for you to come home
To slice her open again
I am yours and I am vindictive.

I am sharp and I am your words.


F.Z.**N