by Gianna, Grade 11
His father was the one who said to him,
that he is like an overripe pear,
clinging to the branch that nurtured it with a desperate and sickening
sweetness.
When the time is due he falls, splitting open on the pavement
to be kicked at by schoolboys
and pointed at, flies picking at him as he lies there
lamenting his own
stench.
He is a butterfly cased in resin
he laughs at those who come to praise his beauty
his colorful patterns, something to be admired in the eternal stillness
of a creature that hasn’t realised
that opening his wings and flying away is
no longer his destiny.
Stretch him out a bit further,
that necklace of beads and pearls on an elastic string
watching the plastic and the price grow further and further apart
hovering, quivering
I want to see if it’ll snap!
The tension builds,
like a rotten infestation
mold and sap dripping down the sides
In the end, they slowly let him go, afraid of the welts that he will leave on their faces
if they wound him any tighter.
He wears bones and smiles like trophies,
while the cold coffee sitting on his desk, his one-day two-day three-day eyebags
are his sword and spear
His crystal cage, the bed of velvet and ice
condensation against the back of his see-through eyes
there is so much to fit inside him,
and yet he cannot fill the space.