The Literary Phoenix

Funny, the damage a silly little book can do. Especially in the hands of a silly little girl.

Crazy to the bone,
they said…

They never gave her a chance to sing.

A lark with the sweetest song,
she rose up like an angel
and fed off her talent
like hummingbirds
with nectar.

Her dead doll eyes and crazy hair
were statements of her impure soul
and so they gave her a plastic bubble,
padded walls,
and encouraged her to avoid sunlight
(and grandmothers, grocery stores, graduation).

Because she was too good,
a gleaming pearl in a rotting oyster
wearing a tinfoil hat and inch-thick glasses.

We can’t have that…
can we?

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