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Showing posts from September, 2010

Tiny Angels

Tiny Angels

Dirty wings, dampened by the rain,
Little things, hampered by the day

They see you laugh, they see you smile,
Crack a joke once in a while, and
You’ll be okay, one of them,
A normal little girl with a tattered lacy hem.

Dirty wings, grey little things that fray,
Dusty words and scattered terms mean
Nothing at all to the ones who heard them scream.

Blonde little girls with darkened locks,
Angels being tampered with, wearing little bobby socks,
A shade of grey, damp and wet, a mangled hem,
Nothing that gets the attention of the mobs…

Dirty words, little wings, battered angels in a twisted
Fairytale place - can’t you see her broken face?
Little girl, smile away, that frayed hem gives nothing away…

© 2009
Krystal D. Dailey


Weak in the knees, and not quite free,
A little bit of you,
Stacked in pieces and piled away from me.
Cracked -un-whole,
All my parts strewn in an empty bowl…

Dazzled by the pain, a not quite right bit of
Neatness - swallowed by the rain.
Empty on my knees,
Crackled and torn - puzzled and worn,
All the layers of my being haphazardly shorn…

Set to the side, bits and parts, pieces of me,
Cracked and torn, tattered and worn,
Shelved among the trivial things…

© 2010
Krystal D. Dailey



Tattered on my sleeves,
Jagged edges of life in vain.
Broken on my knees,
Little pieces of life in pain.

Damned to be lost,
Drifting among waves of silent screams,

Broken, on my knees.

This tattered dress I wear,
A costume of intrigue and despair,
Catch me if you can,
Tell me smile, tell me laugh,
Then set me down in a bubble bath.

Wipe away the stones that catch my skin,
Reminding me of the way again.
Wash my face to clear the way,
Wipe the smoky haze away.

© Krystal Dawn Dailey