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this-knee-land

by Kyra Tayer

a fairy tale withered


after stepping through the gates
of my childhood dream. heres how it went:
yearned for sparkling golden pixie dust, maybe
periwinkle wings, coated with divine iridescence.
instead?
huffs of impatience, grownups being grownups
estranged swarm forming snakes of oh, the wait.
the castle shrunk too? impossible, but not really
i can already squish it between my fingers.
behold, the happiest place on earth
where Tinker Bell sprinkled
the paling ashes of my fantasies
disintegrate, she whispered, until the wind
unclenched its palm: shoo!
my knees squeaked in protest; i could no longer?
the dream somersaulted off a spiky cliff
joining the little mermaids
splash! my face streaked
i waved in farewell but
the waves swallowed them whole.
i wonder if Sleeping Beauty
even wanted to wake up?
if sleeping was such a chore,
then please leave the household to me.
shedding the silk dresses,
i strut fully clad in callused flesh
glass slippers? please, what for
havent you heard? the prince called
the ball off because Cinderellas shoe
fit no more.

consultation with dr. martin


by Kyra Tayer

dear ma'am,
the tests results are finally out
let me begin by saying that
fret not; for your fears are unfounded
have faith; these numbers are never wrong
your daughter is
not depressed, nor socially inept,
nor schizophrenic, nor mentally unsound.
her case is simply a dis-order of perception
Dreamer, that's what they call it.
you worried of the swirling silver wisps in her eyes;
ideas borderline absurd
("the house mice said his name's Stu")
normal; mere symptoms of a fantasy dweller
oh, my input, you say?
in all honesty, mfraid this is terminal
she may not last long;
for the frayed clouds where the mind wanders
are resolutely white.

and i thought what the fuck

this is a decaying grey-verse

sole subject
Kyra Tayer

the museum has a new masterpiece

welcome to

________________________________________________________________________

I. Me. Mine.

________________________________________________________________________
its called
Yours Truly
couldnt have named it better myself
such flawless canvas, bravo!
did you just say bland?
im sorry for your gross, oily taste
never mind,
not everyone appreciates art
after all, thats why you
will never understand me.

a narcissists mind!
these self-proclaimed Hitlers
live in constant gaseous state.
handle with caution please;
one poke sends a rampaging torpedo
careening straight for where it hurts
pay them no heed,
tolerance is a craft
learn to look beyond; for they
will never un-see themselves.

mom, give it a break.

the most painful F word


Its perfectly alright to make plans without me because it's not like the crack in my heart gets
a little wider with each snapshot floating up onto every damned virtual hemisphere. For
everyone to see. For me to see? You get so caught up in one another's exploits that you fail
to see the distorted, moulding sneer simmering underneath the whipped cream topping, and
every day with painstaking difficulty these flaky lips force themselves upwards inch. by.
tormented. inch all in the spirit of not being left alone, behind, unwanted. What a jail cell, this
us. My feet traversed psychedelic Osaka tonight and the wilting, ashen rose in my chest
bloomed in the warm solace amidst throngs of interlopers // more than it ever did with the
made-in-China bond between us.
Friends forever!

Kyra Tayer

the title cant be held responsible


by Kyra Tayer
Angelinas stomach = a flower
the one that traps insects
swallows them whole
hissing madly, squirming
breathing into its own throat
do something about it! she growled
but Daddy G shot her down.
i would know.
i put her to sleep.
lips twitched south,
my discombobulated stare
Daddy G is not the patient type
boasting artillery that makes even
the most pompous soldier cower
hands up, that bloody white flag
only Sheila can
i would know.
ah.
sweet, darling Sheila
mousy pink hair of
cotton candy clouds
melting (shes freezing), melting
the earthquake of lips
humming tuneless tunes
her heart is a sister to blue whales
i would know.
/ my minds feet yanked me backwards /
squinted eyes perused each face
cat-like gazes, seemingly
separate
but actually jigsaw wholes
do you know how much they urged me?
let me have my turn!
all of them, waiting to spring forward to take over
for when i lose control of my own body.
(truthfully, Ive yet to meet them)
*inspired by Pretty Girl-13, a fictional story about a girl who survived living with her kidnapper/rapist
for three years by developing Multiple Personality Disorder.