I don't MindI hate that phrase,"If you don't mind",the one that goes,with the look that says,I dare you to say noI hate that sentence,"If you want to"but really,you don't have a choiceI hate those words,"You can..."implying that,you have an optionIf you don't mind, I dare you to say no, If you want to, You really don't have a choice You can...You never really had an option.I hate those phrases,The ones that expect,robotic responses,Why of course I don't mind
From Ice Princess to Monsteryou've spent an eternity writing on that chalkboard,sucking in it's dust,hearing the dragging of the monster's nails,forever in the back of your mind,waiting to jump out when you're most vulnerable.but who's to say your punishment was valid,who's to say you are guilty?you're spineless and easily manipulated,that alone should be punishment enough,at least in the eyes of the sympathetic.but who's to say you are innocent?you broke apart a family,just like you broke every piece of chalk,and when necessary,wiped them away with a brush,leaving them in your dust.But once a slave to the monster,always a slave to the monstereven it if disguises itself as an Ice Princess wearing a crystal crown.
deergirllong ago there lived a boy in the hazy mountains to the east who often did the fishing and logging for his father. in the wintertime, when the fish were hidden frozen under the layercake pondwater and the trees nearest the cabin were too tired and frail and quivery to be cut down for firewood, the boy would have to venture out quite far to find ponds that were still crackly and wood that would still burn.the father, seeing his son struggle to mash up the first of the frostbitten roots in the old castiron dragonbelly pot, raised his head a bit from the worn imprinted couch where he lay most day and night. he saw how the little fish laying like forgotten words had barely enough bone to make a stock, let alone any flesh on them, as skinny as his own son.he beckoned, steering the son near him with his whittled walking-stick. not a useful thing, that, but the son had made it and so out of rules for such things the gruff father kept it.and what he said was true. the son was almost a man;