the child

i drew blood and the bruises
muddied up my skin,
adding pressure only caused
me to flinch at the pain
within – i thought back to
when i was eleven and my bicycle’s
spinning wheels decided to jump
head over heels into the pebbles
and gravel and dirt – i stretched out
my shirt to wipe my knees
and every time i look at my right knee
i see the scar from when i
used to be so childlike and carefree
and now that i’m older i feel a
bit broken, overanalyzing my failures
maybe i’m too childish are behaving
too carelessly 
forgetting that knowing my soul,
is different from taking apart and
reassembling my heart to play
some sort of part in a life story
full of plot holes, both heart and
soul are vessels which must be filled
but neither of which must be
nourished from water that was
stolen from paths half walked
or from holes that aren’t whole
or from the clocks of others
i can’t tell or take their time
nor can i make their wishes
bring reality to mine

the mountain of life

i’ll just keep
climbing until i’m dead
then all the thoughts
i left unsaid in my head
will leap into the sky
where stars have lead
a red sun into
the morning of my living
room, where i used to stack
my sugar up in spoons
to sweeten the caffeine
in my cup, when i
stayed awake and talked
too much to the moon
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: final


humans, more like mice –
we were let out of our
cages – given free will
to choose between virtuous
paths or roads littered with vices
to creep, run red lights, or curl
up in defeat within the maze
of life that has paved its
way across the universe
and upon our brains –
and when we change lanes, road
blocks or dead ends greet
our gazes, often unexpectedly and
without charm, without thinking
twice to seek the lessons and wisdom at
the root of all trials, we roll in the harm –
believing the extent of our self-inflicted
pain is a measure to determine what is
worthwhile to be gained, but in the end it is
letting go of all of these things …
and then, only then – the dead ends
of our journeys
and the last breath of our souls
can be reconciled

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: maze

swearing; steering

music beautifully swears
about the things that tear
at the bruises of my scars
which is why we turn her up
to push pain out into the sunlight
as we dig our nails into
the steering wheels of our cars
sending us into some direction
while feeling directionless

backdated Post a Day Poem for April 3rd, 2017