The girl without hands

The girl without hands*
by me(whatever)

The girl without hands,
she fell off the high wall,
like a humpty dumpty without wings.

She was laughing so gallantly,
nodding her head to the world
before her own mistake took her.

The skeleton in the grave below,
still lives and tortures her with its songs.

When she was older, she was unhappy
when she was younger, she thought she was happy.

The girl wearing the blind fold,
hiding the sight of her soul from those abusers
but no one understood, because she hid
and no one sought to help, for she disappeared.

It was purple, but no, it was pink
somehow it's become jumbled
her egg yolk and shell have shattered.

fairy tales are cruel,
and within them are meanings we have forgotten,
tales whispered to ourselves in the dark
when our emptiness overfills the room.

The girl without hands,
unable to hold, without breaking, a single beautiful word
a single beautiful thought
a single beautiful heart.

Are they connected?
I wish they were, I wish they were
the heart and soul,
maybe one could mend the other.

The girl without a heart,
is there a fairy tail as such?
For she lost her hands,
and everything slipped away
simply because she fell.

In a town of so many eggs
living and bouncing,
and learning to flap their wings
She's on the ground
walking behind everyone else. 

"Save me! Save me!"
she cried, behind her mask.
The girl without hands,
no one could hold her. 

Song

Song
by me(whatever)
to Rain stops, goodbye (piano version)

Throughout my life,
like a bombarding parade;
there's a scrapbook of songs,
showing my steps
better than footprints ever could.

The notes between bars,
just like a canary in a cage;
each key strike tells a thousand stories
in a voice I still can't make out the words,
it tells me to move on.

So many songs,
filling the message I bottled in the sea
people who I will never know
read and take notes,
answering the questions I never asked.

In a room darkened by night,
I listened alone.
In parables, and dreams, and fairytales,
I closed my eyes
and quietly held on.

When in the laughing face of time,
I forget myself again and again,
a million songs fill my mind
reminding me of who I am,
and who I will be
when I can write my own.

Wood Letter

wood letter
by me(whatever) 

From the midst of the whistling woods,
I will return again.
From the depths of the forest dark,
I will return here.

It's springtime in the trees,
you can hear it in the birds song.
The rain never falters,
yet the sounds carry on.

The wet gets in my clothes,
the dew in my hair.
I shiver in the greenery,
an overlay of sparse flowers.

I found on the soft oak path,
a view of a lake reflecting the sky.
If I could hold it in my palm,
I'd bring it for you to see.

It's a journey from the book,
the journal we found in the old leather trunk.
Wish me well,
I will return again.