The PrincessA petty princess wakes, her royal night regalia
Juxtaposing her with their importance.
Her just a girl, a simple girl at that
Who dreams of ponies and dolls in houses,
Getting them all and more.
Taking short sojourns to the sea on her dyed pink pony
And playing family with dolls who share all their time.
She gets whatever she wants.
Except her dad at home to hold,
Or her mom to be free from that bottle she suckles at night.
The princess can hear it on nights her father doesnt come home
Nights like these when she awakens from night-gaunts
And is left with the comfort of the best products money can buy.
The StatueA tower of loving living stone whose skin is a white marble polished by hands not my own
A rough work that was refined, each artist leaving its mark, some small piece that only she remembers
Each new artist running their hands over the body, a place that gives to their touch
Sometimes she says No that is mine, you may not touch that still sore from recent shaping
and not knowing what our touch might change.