Fairer Hands
If I sit in the chair, it’s like there’s no one really there
If I make a small request, regardless of how simple it is,
Red tape binds my limbs together, tying my wrists
Encircling every fair finger, binding them to each other
Until they’re rendered useless
But of course, if he asks the same question
The path of golden bricks is laid out before him
Decorating the road, making it shine to the point of blinding
Because that path is clear of debris, ready before he can even take a step
Because the answer to his question is a simple yes
If I want to move, climb up the next rung of the ladder
I have to try to grab ahold of weak, rotten wood
So worn and aged it barely clings to the ladder’s sides
It feels too weak to pull me up, yet
What choice do I have but to try seizing it?
For the rung above it is too high and out of reach
The wood cracks beneath my fingertips as soon as I
Try to haul myself upward
It splinters and I feel the tiny pieces of wood scratch my skin as it falls
I wince at the sting and cling to the side of the ladder
But I can’t stay still, even for a moment
For right beside me, there’s another ladder
Built of strong wood, steadily planted on the ground
It doesn’t shake or tremble
The rungs are close together and are easily scaled
He can race to the top with such ease
If I don’t inch my way up the side
Trying to scale a ladder that was never made to be climbed
I’ll be left too far behind to ever reach the same height
Splinters cut into my fingers
The dark wood becomes stained with flecks of red
All of these harsh trials are simply
The way of the world for someone born with fairer hands
Dotted or Solid
In youth, colors are driven
outside the lines
by hands tightly
clasping crayons
Too eager about finishing
to heed the outlines
With time, should hands steering
wheels stray outside the lines
the cost is much higher
than sloppy colors
For should someone go too far
break beyond the solid yellow line
the only color smeared
would be red
As a child, it was a goal
to draw within the lines
As years pass, the goal
is obeying the road’s lines
Diploma for Daedalus
It’s a hurdle, they say
almost impossible to find your way
It’s a battle, so I’ve heard
but I have yet to find the right word
A labyrinth has many entrances
only one exit but countless dead ends
But these openings that seem to promise advance
really just serve to diverge your path
leading far away from the maze’s heart
It’s futile, so they say
just a way to delay
the inevitability of working
each and every day
It’s too dangerous, I’ve heard
but I’ve yet to find a foe too foul to fault
In this maze, with unmoving walls
Stone as cold as the people you smile at
but could never truly stand with as a confidant
There are grins and guises, cheerful masks
simply existing to lead you down the wrong path
It’s a risk, they warn, but others say
nothing ventured, nothing gained
Don’t be a fool, they repeat
but I have a talent for landing on my feet
Shelves of books worth a pound of gold
stand erect on many of these maze walls
Dusty tomes that seem worth more than a human life
but a contract of words insists they're needed
Forcing you to surrender every cent you have
Racing through the maze, getting deeper
falling down into the darkest depths of debt
Chasing it all for a scrap of paper.
Navigating the darkest corridors
with little regard to getting lost along the way
Be sure you’re certain, they insist
you can’t change your mind, they caution
At the heart of the maze, where alternate paths
have been cut off
There lies the paper with your name etched in gold.
It should be a key to the future, a light to the maze’s exit
But was it all worth it? is what they’ll ask
Did I make the right choice? so you’ll ask yourself
Will this ever even help? thus you wonder
For as you exit the labyrinth
That taught you many things,
not all of which you needed
You quickly realize that with this degree in hand,
you’ve just stepped out into another wilderness