new clothes.

pick up your fantasies and stitch them together.
up goes the needle,
and down again.
the thread is like a magical silver robe
which eases the senses
and erases the pain.

--------------------------

the rainbow hides behind the evil gray cloud
waiting for the little drop of sunshine to filter in
and then it peeks out silently,
and paints that smile on your face
as I see that bright spark stealthily
escape the rough exterior of a girl
who hides herself behind the silk and the lace.

--------------------------

the dew spun a web last night.
the spider is not home
to see that you made it your abode of joy.
to you, this world is just a purple ping-pong ball
and life, a wonderful toy.

--------------------------

you are the babe that dreams are made of,
a little Thumbelina made
to cast away the mundane problems
of metropolitan life
which chose the apple God forbade.

--------------------------

maybe my rhymes make no sense at all.
forced, they are and oh-so-obvious.
but I only write so that you laugh
and shout
and giggle
throwing your hands about
even if it means that I sound incredulous.

--------------------------

believe me when I say
that it is what worries you
I want to do away with,
only because you waste precious time
and sweat and chime,
about a life that goes by
and you end up asking why-oh-why.
questions! questions!
do away with them.
fly like a bird
to where you want to be.
stitch your wings and unfold them,
one-two-three.