Dyslexic Mon.Tabliod

‘Summers’ of  2020’ -it can kill you A decent meal, clothes, transportation and safe roof over his head, he didn’t care for fame and rapping, trappings of deceptive and shiny wealth, much, that in the end ends up owning a person, stealing freedom, and wondrous natural nuances of life. He turned, looking over his shoulder, the hoards of strangers following him in hot pursuit, in the superficial, not seeing him, at all, but only an iconic marketed image of him, was increasingly concerning, mostly. He was trapped inside, in so many ways, and he knew it, though wealthier than most. He was not human but an object-thingy’, like, a fav hoped for, stuffed-animal plaything, w/out heart nor mind, for children to romp with, or upon, and at monkey-worlds self-serving leisure, and convenience. A massive high Art Talent, but with no VOICE, bc in a room of ppl who could not see, nor hear anything but their own minds, and idol child’s chatter of foolishness, has got to be a sin, he pondered...

"And She Was Only 12"  She lay there in her self-made DIY castle deigned for Princesses on a light coloured flower patterned sofa. In a child's bod with an ever-evolving grownup mind with high, high awareness since a tiny thing, like, a lil Jesus on steroids, eyes wide and all rug-ed-up comforting herself wrapped in mounds of carefully placed soft pillows, and mounds of loving cozy soft blankets, hm that’s better, she said in a near whisper.  She was hidden with only her small strong lovely square face poking out a mere wee bit, like, a snowshoe-hare in her rabbit-hole beneath mounds of soft white protecting snow in winter carefully peering out at a big mean unforgiving world.  She knew that she was different, she huffed a lil huff but refused to let a tear fall nor go all teary-eyed. No matter how great, ‘different’ can be brutal, she whispered, others with no understanding of born inherent art minds. Though, she wasn’t embarrassed in the least to have a good cry ...