Hats Of Many Colours ~ SM

Pink hat on
I dance through the fields chasing buttterflies flitting off trees
The wind lifts my pigtails and slaps my ears
My smile wide, spread gleefully across my cheeks

Blue hat on
“People won’t like this thing that you do
The world is small, I keep hearing about you.
Be sensible, be smart.
Quit wearing sleeves that display your heart”

Yellow hat on
“This is who you are
This is who you were meant to be
You can’t do this, it won’t speak well of us
We were born to cut with knives while saving lives”

Orange hat on
“We don’t know who you are
Shouldn’t you be milling with an upper crust squad?
Get out, you don’t fit in here”

Red hat on
“I can’t wait for you”
“I can’t love you as you are”
“I’m not sure about you”
“I can’t” “I won’t” “I tried” “I lied”.

Black hat on
There’s no one to catch you when you fall
Learn to fight beasts, snakes, dragons and more
Keep your battle gear on:
Helmet, check.
Breastplate, check.

White hat on
Let me speak
White hat on
Let me breathe
White hat on
Let me be

~SM

The Bakers’ Girl Pt. 2 ~ SM

The ledge I mount as the crowd roars loud
From underneath me, my stand kicked swiftly
My world should have gone blank before me
As I waited for peace to fall on me
Rope came undone and I fell to the ground
Bewildered I wait, they will surely pounce
Shocked I lift my eyes and they fall in line with a rake’s tine
I should have died…

“Stand up!”
The voice that commanded was smooth as clay
Sharp like cinnamon laced with the comfort of sage
Prodding me along blade now pointing at my nape
Back up the street where my escape failed
I hesitate…

“Move!”
More cinnamon, less sage
A command it was, no time to spare
I wish I could ask “To where?”
I wish I knew where this road would lead
Let me stop here I almost plead
This time, the baker will be nice

“Keep walking…”
Less cinnamon, more sage
I keep walking, building calluses on my feet
So hard they break off against the cobblestone street
Baby fresh skin revealed with each crack and fall
A thunderstorm…

The clouds burst and release their secret store
Like bullets, the pellets hit my open sores
Raising layers of dirt pressed in cotton and skin’s pores
I could have screamed from the pain
I could have run to the baker and kneaded the same
I stayed…
Till the sun sent a ray to light my way
Driving away every drop on my brown nosed face

“This way…”
No cinnamon, all sage.
I smile…
A touch like velvet rests on my bare arm
Friend turned Angel by the will of God
Brought me to a place made with birch and stone
Set with a fire low
And put in place all the things that I had once known
I’m home.

The Bakers’ Girl, Pt. 1 ~ SM

I ran through the streets
Tears streaming down
Working hard to hide my disgrace
I knocked at the Baker’s door
Many a time I had sought help here
He opened the door a crack
Looked at me and dutifully snapped
“I have no space for you here”

Disbelief registered clear
No choice did I have but to implore
“You said you would keep me
Forever be my reprieve
I kneaded the dough till the light was low
Helped you make the bread
Which you proudly put on show
A complaint I never made
Even when the last loaf was given away
Starved I was but slaved all day
You could have been kinder then
‘Then’ was the past beyond the day that is today
Still, I make no complaints
Be kind now and shelter me here
For home no longer grants warmth to my weary bones
It stands empty,
Abandoned in the days I spent by the furnace
I have nowhere to turn
Listen! The cobblestones are crying louder!
Hide me, save me! You promised….”

My words I swallow as I sink low
Sobbing and shaking, hands pressed to my lobes
The slamming of the door still piercing through
A door that was once held wide open…

In the distance I hear the town crier cry
To surrender and die… or to live a lie
Onto the executioner’s stand I climb, head held high
Around my neck a rope they tie
My sin I state, clear and simple as time
“Bread I made in a space not mine,
Such is my crime.”