Zen Cookies.
I'm not much of an artist. I don't write stories. But I do write poetry when the mood strikes. - Steph
Zen Cookies
Sitting on the grass with ice cream on her mouth
She looks up
And asks me what she did wrong.
I kneel down beside her
Chocolate puddles sticky on my feet. And say
"The ice cream fell.
It wasn't you
--you can't make the ice cream stop melting.
Don't cry." And have a cookie.
She opens her hands eagerly waiting, smeary fingers stretching to the sky
Her sticky-messy mouth opened wide in an O
"Here. You can't spill cookies, they don't drip off a cone."
Summers and winters
She comes home crying to her room
...Boys are awful, she says time and time again. What did she do wrong, she screams.
I can't believe my eyes are dry, hers flooded on the floor for days. But I
Knock quietly on her door and gently say
"Yes, they're awful.
It wasn't you
--you can't please men who just want sex.
Don't cry." And have a cookie.
She sniffles back her tears, wobbly hands reaching for my arm
Her clinging grasping fingers tighten on my sleeve
"Here. You can't be dumped by cookies, they won't lie to sleep with you."
At night the moon
Is cold, its face a loveless grey
Users make me sick, I think - my eyes are bleary red
I just can't fall asleep... I couldn't live without that smile. Her bandaged knees
Those tiny smeary hands that smudged my shirt
What did I do wrong, I ask. How did I go wrong, I scream. And then
I hear her talking in her sleep...and all those words come back.
It wasn't you, you did no wrong
--you can't teach users not to
USE!
_ AND! _
_ HURT! _
Don't cry. And have a cookie.
I wipe my stinging eyes, my shaking fingers reaching to her face
Her warm and creaseless forehead wrinkles with her dreams.
Here. She won't be hurt by cookies, they don't pretend to care about her.
Don't cry. And have
A cookie.