Fairy-tales do not exist

Image result for steampunk art

Fairy tales do not exist
and cupids arrow will always miss.
The evil queen will always win
and every girl is filled with sin.

There’s no golden fleece to protect us all
no fairy godmother to stop your fall.
The birds don’t clean and cats don’t talk
and there’s no such thing as the perfect walk.

There’s no bread crumbs to find your way
and no fire breathing dragon for you to slay.
Hearts are real and cannibalism does exist
and there’s no such thing as the perfect kiss.

The emerald city and the world of oz are just a dream
and yes, people really are that mean.
Parlour tricks and a clever tongue
and no the spell won’t break with the morning sun.

Fairy tales do not exist
but I think I might
just take that risk.

Karen Hayward ©2015. Image downloaded via google

The battleground of silence

If her words are to be cut from her tongue, if her silence is to be cut from her soul, she has only her ink. The solace of her page, the sombre flow of thoughts carved into yesterday’s canvas. The freedom of poetic expression…said here, said there, the effect is the same. The cause falls on blind eyes, a defensive soul guarding against… The only one he needs not. For those words silenced in reprimand wanted not to talk of command, demand or dictating, just love. A silence that wished not to hurt, offend or harm found an unwanted battle ground of misunderstanding and trust questioned on the balance beam of expectations, emotions, a kaleidoscopic rainbow of scars
itching to rip open, and she is not trusted to itch them, she is not trusted to express the way they scratch, they bleed, perhaps such a thing is for children, for the weak..for they are the adults. Then she stands in all her glory for she holds no shame in her weakness. Her silence sought only his love, the tender touch of his words the reassuring tone of primal need on carnals vice. His defence, guarded, angered.. the unnescasary ripples of his own scars, as he scratched them into life. For an unexpressed thought will ricochet through existence slowly crumbling foundations. A recipe for disaster, one part love, one part lust, one part the closed eyes of a pretence, a locked vault of despair, a curse she never once wished upon him, never had she bound his tongue never had she silenced his silence. She holds all trust in their love, all belief in their truths. In the silence of no words said, she ponders the irony that of all the things he did not trust, it was her need to express without consequences to him, her need to understand the pain that drives, her need to have the freedom to be vulnerable, safe in the knowledge he’d catch her…

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Photo

Cleaner reqiured

If I gather up
the cracked
pieces of
timeless
porcelain,
the shattered
grains of soul,
the shards of
spirit, the
chipped remains
of identity…
With my heart
in pieces;
perhaps you
could help me
tidy them into
neat piles of
rationality, dust
away the insanity.
Fill the voids
with self believe,
polishing them
with self confidence
long lost in the
devils hour.

Karen Hayward* ©2018

See what they see…

He stroked tangles into her once luscious mane,
and peppered it in the muted hues of time.
He smoothed the years across her brow
and etched his hate
within her blunt laughter lines.
He left a thesis of his dysfunction written between the grains of her invalid groin
and ringed the spoils of her scars in red ink.
He left her skin bare of kisses, of love,
of exploration or pleasure
he tamed the primal beast
he groomed her into silence
then gave her a mirror
and said…

See? Then grinned menacingly.

He stroked tangles into her once luscious mane…

Karen Hayward © 2019

Image via Google search.

The truest of beauty

I looked for the stars in an empty sky,
then I see them twinkling in your precious eyes.
I looked to the world for beauty unseen
I find it right there in your fearsome belief.
I looked in the faces for pure kindness you see,
then I saw it was all that you were able to be.
I looked to the universe for a reason to see,
and the universe gave you, to me.

Karen Hayward ©2015.