And now, Scary-Crayon presents...
Crayon Poetry Corner

How I hate these Thanksgiving holiday seasons
when everyone starts sharing all sorts of reasons
for giving thanks. "Love! Life! Family!" they sing.
What am I thankful for? Not one damned fucking thing.

"What nonsense!" they say.
"Just look -- you can walk!
"Your legs don't hang there lifeless;
"you can run; hey, you can stalk!"
But I think that's bullshit -- and so should you --
BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT LEGS ARE SUPPOSED TO DO.

"But look around!" they say to me,
"Behold the wonders you can see!
"And, having seen them, bear in mind
you could've been born blind!"
And my temple throbs a little more --
BECAUSE SEEING IS WHAT EYES ARE FOR.

''What am I thankful for? Not one damned fucking thing.''

I'M SORRY! Do I sound like a jerk
for not rejoicing when things work?
On and on and on it goes:
"Be thankful," they say, "you were born with ten toes!
"You're not deformed or crippled --
be glad that things aren't worse!"
But at least then they'd nod and agree
and let me be when I proceed to curse
my miserable life and admit that I'm right!
I've no friends, no employment, no joy or delight,
yet still they press on: "Hey, what about your art?
Your fiction, your poems -- you're really quite smart."
I sigh. "What's talent, you stupid git,
when no one appears to appreciate it?"

And when they gather 'round the table,
bow their heads, and say their grace,
I look on these proceedings
with a sneer upon my face --
BUT THEN! I spy the carving knife
and sip the whiskey in my cup
and think, "How thankful I would be
if I could chop them up."

HEY! GOT SOMETHING TO ADD? LEAVE A COMMENT IN THE BLOG!
Return to the main page!
Copyright © 2003-2018 Scary-Crayon. All rights reserved.