Thursday, March 10, 2016

Discarded Toys

I play with my rabbit
every day, sometimes twice.
Often, I wish it velveteen,

as real as the smack
of a riding crop
as I rock my mount,
ridden wet, and hard.

Not every toy was meant to be velveteen.
The streams never crossed,
left alone and solitary
in my toy box.

For you, I was only a plaything,
Never meant to be made real.

Bunnies can break.
Your mechanical heart needs winding.

You box me up,
your discarded toy,
that bored you,
displeased you.

My answers were always wrong.
I never learned to tell
the fairy tales quite
the way you wanted.

I'm just another locked toy box,
left out for whoever might want
a broken, discarded plaything,

a rag doll waiting for a new master.

Find it here.

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Take My Wings

Butterfly fragile,
my wings new grown.
I flew. I dreamed,
and I flew

right into your net.
Coaxed by a breath of words
fluttered into my susceptible ears,
Entrapped by my own desire.
to believe

that the intensity in your eyes
was more than the clinical interest
of a magnifying glass.

Pin my wings,
taking out your heart
even as I strip bare.

Mount me.
I helped you weave the net
so much thicker, so much tighter,
with my own indiscretions.

Bind me, wrapping me fast
into my cocoon.
Turn me back
from newly metamorphed butterfly
to graceless worm.

I let you experiment,
your gaze scientist cold,
forgetting I once knew

how to fly.