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Plastic Knives and Loaded Guns

Weeping as the dawn breaks
There is no time for consideration
It’s too early for thoughts
The ones that inhabit are content
There is no signal to activate them
Another brain they’ve enabled themselves

They’ve got an army of one thousand
With steel plate armor and loaded guns
She’s got an army of one
With paper plate armor and plastic knives

The army of one isn’t too brave
It’s got shoelaces tied around its heart
It’s got low motivation and a stubborn mind
Sometimes it tries to use screaming as its method of attack
But somehow screams don’t live in the audible sense

There’s this thing the enemy’s got
They hold it in reserve and use it when they’re lost and confused
The concept of it is quite the elaborate one
And one that she’s yet to find the key
But even when she’s got two hundred sixty five wounds in her
She continues to stand and hold her white plastic knife

The army’s one that attacks without warning
The reserves are plenty so there’s rarely a break
The only ally on her side is the magical dust
The army avoids the poison of the dust
Unknown to many the dust is hard to get
For no one is generous enough to offer dust
So she must FAIL.AT.LIFE to get the dust
The dust is hardly worth it
For when it’s over she wakes under a blanket of guilt

Sometimes there are the ones
Who are neither enemies nor allies
They lack the ability to speak or write her native language
But enjoy humoring themselves with attempts

Once in a while they’ll appear with a plastic spoon
But a spoon is no knife and a knife is no gun
They often speak in words that she doesn’t understand
They tell her about concepts that her brain can’t comprehend
Putting a native French person in the room of an Hispanic
Would yield no results to benefit the situation
But at least they’d have some non verbal cues
And thus wrap their minds around something

She’s tried to recruit the non-allies non-enemies for years
Most are content and do not wish to risk their lives in war
But the select foolish few have egos too big for life

She takes the first bunch out to sea for battle
Some starve, some drown, and some get shot
But nonetheless before long
Each and every one will be forgotten
The second bunch is a little too over confident
And thus their fate ends in murdering their own souls
The third bunch gives her motivation speeches
And is obsessed with a concept of hope
But when it’s time for the bullets to come flying at her
They run cowardly to the back of the bunch

And others flock into her life over the years
They often choose to speak of things other than the war
While she’d comprehend if there was a break in the war
The war has never ended

When you have a gun in your mouth and restraints on
Speaking of the skies pains and tightens the soul
Most of the ones not engaged in the battle
Let’s call them “the normal ones”
Are blind when it comes to wars
They think it’s interesting that she constantly hold a knife
But with the camouflage she wears
It’s hard to see the wounds that were never treated

And of course there are the others
We’ll call them “the normal but slightly more aware ones”
Once in a blue moon they see a one inch shallow cut
Where the plastic knife was stolen and directed against her

Sometimes the cuts are more like two inches
These people send out a medical team to her
They put on a band aid and move on to the next emergency
But don’t worry
They’ll return when the moon turns to blue again

Unfortunately there is not one that can see the battle
They cannot hear the gunshots
They cannot view the wounds
They can only offer the idea that hope may end the war

But telling a kid to run a marathon does not good
When the kid does not recognize the word
And when his parents try to explain the term in simpler words
He cannot understand it and throws a fit
The doctor gives him Ritalin and thus a new battle begins
But we must return
Because a poem can only hold the despair of one battle

So as the days go on the wounds increase and increase
One day she wakes on a branch hiding in a leafy tree
So cannot climb down for the pain is too much
Instead of seeing the distinct wounds as in before
She cannot find a spot without a wound

Most would cry but she lacks tear ducts
She cannot scream for fear they will hear her
So she turns the pain inward
Unfortunately a branch does not have the strength to hold despair
So it creaks and bends
She holds on with the crumb of strength she has left
And with a snap the wounds meet bruises

The enemy seizes her
And at this point she knows she underappreciated the spoons
She promised herself that if she were ever to receive the gift of a spoon again
She would trade in some dust and work all night
To chisel down that spoon so it could operate as a weapon

But now she must struggle to become free
But when you have wounds and bruises
And you have weights tied to your limbs
And you have people beating you with bats
Sometimes it’s all you can do to succumb
Give in to the bad guys and let them have their glory

She tries to use her dust to keep herself alive
But when they slice off her hand with their silver sword
Her dust falls to the ground and the Earth swallows it whole

The enemy takes her to the secluded woods
They throw her in a box of cold steel and bolt the lid shut
They dug the hole fifteen feet down
And drop the steel box

When it smacked the cold dirt she couldn’t find the energy to cringe
So she whimpered and ached with the energy she had left
The box was so small that if she could move
There would no where to move to
The air is so suffocating that she fears the end is near

Suddenly one day the Earth is dug into
And the box is opened
Skepticism lies in the heart of her

But beyond the borders of the woods
The angels of optimism are praising their goddess
The sun found a spot to break through the gray clouds
Chocolate lollipops were handed out to all
People expressed joy at every aspect of life

Psychiatrists and psychologists went out of business
They went back to school for a degree in incurable optimism
But ironically they knew more than the teachers
So they spent their days making sunflower necklaces
Eating chocolate covered strawberries
And trying to one up one another
With stories of the wonderfulness they experience

In the meanwhile she was simply raised out of the ground
To see if breath stilled lived in her
When they recognized it would be momentarily
They left her distraught and hopeless

They were so proud
They knew they had extinguished her
They had preyed on the weak
And conquered the challenge

The news had quickly arrived to the outskirts of the woods
Of the tragic ending to a intense battle
The townspeople turned to each other
And said
“Well at least she lived a good life.”
And at that she was forgotten

They had thanked the angels for blessing her
With a life of promise and happiness
The history books were never reprinted
With the tale of the tragic battle
The enemy was never framed
Revenge was never sought for her sake
And guilt could never reach them

So the story ends here
The girl was whisked away from life
Her weaknesses could not be overcome
The hope could never be tied and kept near
And unfortunately
The art of being dead was just as desolate
As the art of being alive.





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