Poni Tales
2001-08-05 03:04:36 (UTC)


Small. Dark.
This room isn't big
enough to fart in.
Prisoners get bigger rooms.

I hate this dump.
I can't walk for knocking something over
or bumping a knee
or bashing a toe.

I swear at everything.
I cry for nothing.
I hit and gnash, and
rage consumes all else.

My mind is a feverish seizure
of black rebellion against
my environment.

This tin can with cheap panel
mocks and riddles me.

Trailer trash, trailer trash!
Look what Crystal's become!!!

This cheesebox teases and taunts me
and slaps me in the face when I try to sleep.

I feel like a three-year-old who is so
frustrated and mad
at their parents
who are laughing at them "cause they're so cute"
and the three year old

can't do a thing about it.

I'm too small.
I'm too weak.
This 40-foot monster has eaten
my soul.
My happiness.
my dignity.

my big fat room-
I used to have but now I don't -because
some one, may they rot in the most
painful part of Afterlife,
sold it. Sold my safe haven.

I sobbed until I vomited.
I flung myself on every bare,
floor of that beautiful, crumbling
I clung to the floors and told them
all one by one how much I loved them.
Then I said IT "good bye, childhood".

That house and its comfortable spirits
raised me and comforted me..
don't these idiots know that
Grandpa's ghost lived there?

He talked to me, and he told me
that despite the fact my family ws
"odd" that I wouldn't be that way.

that old man said my heart was good
and that given a chance, I could
be better.

I think he lied.
Good people don't think about killing
others. or hurting loved ones
or missing silly
white-then green-then white
houses, whittled down by time.

I can't cry here.
someone will hear me,
and they'll know the Secret
that I'm WEAK
and they also hear if I laugh
and wonder what could possibly make me happy

I can't change clothes here.
I hate the shower. It's so small
and the showerhead sprinkles
worse than a watering can.

I can look right outside and see
my wonderful horses,
but I don't want them to see
their Mama
looking like white trash,
all dirty
and cramped
and wrinkled
and angry
AND Goddamn CAGED UP!!!

How can I be what Grandpa said I could be NOW?

Please help me.
My stuffed animals
exchange worried looks when I swear,
and I would never hurt such pure,
furry souls and bearers of happy light.

as if this CAN isn't enough...