Not A Poem

This is not a poem. It

is not beautiful; it

does not sing.

This is a scream.

Where have all the children gone?

They were lost–

Somewhere between DC and CA

we lost our way

and lost our kids.

Instead, we are left with a paltry few

hollow-eyed strangers who

fear both the dark and the light.

we revoked their rights

to be innocent, to live,

instead of a playground we give them

a tomb.

(if we even allow them to escape the womb)

And we’ll keep trading

their noise and their smells and their laughter and tears

for a porcelain fantasy

and our comfortable fears.

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I am Not

I am Not your Darling or Honey
Here’s your coffee, sir, now go away
Your attempts at a rogueish seduction
would bring shame to heads that were less grey.

I am Not amused by your laughter
Would you be if the tables were turned?
I am Not your sweet little Girlie;
as I hiss at your back my eyes burn.

I am Fire and Fury and Windsong
I was born of the heart of a star
I am flesh and blood and dragon-strong
and my bones are diamond-hard

I am Not for such as you, sir.
I do not belong to you.