Fantastically Real... Or Not

Are there no such things as fairytales?
Are young girls all deceived?
All the wishing and the hoping
What good can it be?
When seeing life for what it really is
Do we shrink away and cower?
Are we content to leave Repunzel
Locked away up in a tower?
But real life; it is so bitter sweet
Once believing then doubting all
When our prince comes prancing gallantly
A straight crash into the wall…

So aptly named are fairytales
For tales are all they are
Spending long cold nights at home alone
And dressing up the scars
How do I face the world again
After finally becoming aware
That I leapt hastily from a building
On not even but a dare
Love, love, unrequited love
Soft silky lips are mine to miss
Because there may be no such thing
As wonderful as true loves kiss…

It is silly but I must confess that I
Am no better than the average maid
For though my talk is cynical
All the options must be weighed
Maybe he’s out there waiting too
Searching ‘cross the distant land
He is carefully biding all his time
Then he’ll one day ask my hand
It could be just like I planned it
However unlikely that may be
So until then I guess I’ll wait for him
I’m blind before I see…

Life Goes On

Two days into the new year, I found myself scribbling out 2009 and replacing it with 2010. Frustrated, preoccupied, I hastily signed the check and handed it over. When the store clerk asked if that would be all I stared at her trying to understand why she would ask such a ridiculous question. But when the look on her face showed surprise at the look on mine, I shook my head and mumbled that indeed it would. Apparently just because my life was in shambles didn't mean that the rest of the world wouldn't continue to function with programmed persistence.

Who Am I?

Who am I?
I’m the one
You know, walking down the street
The one you never meet
Stepping to my own beat
Who am I?
I’m the one you’ve never talked to
But why?
Because I’m just a little strange
And I sometimes look deranged
Or maybe just because I’m plain
You see
I don’t mind that you don’t know
I don’t mind when you don’t ask
The task
At hand
Is greater than the knowing
Greater than the showing
I don’t
Need to be needed
Want to be wanted
Or seen

Grief

A hulking, black, accumulation of bereavement audaciously seeps into an infinitesimal fissure carved in the stone surface. It is a bleeding vapor with the breath of kraken; cold but sickly, feverish and sticky with perspiration. Clammy claws cringe for an instant but boldly move forward to the pulsing core.
Every beat
Soon secretes
Oozing sores
Through closed doors
Every whine
Taps in time
He sees the heart so innocent and safe; it falters at his presence. Each thrum sends power to this diabolical creature. Growing and stretching into every crevice, his tendril fingers reach the delicate, life-giving organ. He produces a calcified, rust ridden, dagger barbed and scarred with age and begins to slice wildly at the beating flesh. No smooth edge to neatly wound; grief ravages his victim.