My Diversion

My Diversion

There’s a corner in my mind
where I like to go sometimes.
It’s got a rose up on a shelf
and a tiny purple elf.

He whispers things into my ear,
a bit too soft for me to hear,
but it makes me want to dance
in the rain and watch your glance.

Up and down the whistler hums,
little drummers with big drums.
Pitter patter tiny elf,
climbs back up onto his shelf.

Tinted tears are falling down:
these he catches with no sound,
drinks the water, saves the salt,
locks it up into his vault.

Light a match to keep him warm,
then tuck in his tiny form.
Smell the rose and flip the light,
put the friend out of my sight.

There’s a corner in my mind
where I like to go sometimes.
It’s got a rose up on a shelf
and a tiny purple elf…

goodnight.

Annie Neugebauer
© 2008, All rights reserved.

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Self-inflicted

Self-inflicted

I sit like Rapunzel,
locked in my tower.
No one sees my pain.
I’ve cut my own hair;
neither witch nor prince
is to blame.
Alone, I look out on the world—
a window with no glass
frames my form.
I can’t climb down.
Why would I want to?
At the base, lie the thorns.
No desire to jump—
no wish to die—
Yet I look out over the land
with my short, ugly hair,
and I long to be…
free.

© Annie Neugebauer
2008, All rights reserved.

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