And now I want to cry

Suddenly sad, but why?

Not doing well in my classes

Got bad eating habits

Can’t concentrate

Full of anger and hate

No social skills and I’m lazy, uncool

I’m in terrible shape

Can’t stand going to school

Life is so precious

and I’m wasting my time

But I can’t figure out what to do



anticipation bubbles

as convention dates draw near

and all my feelings muddle

my excitement, joy and fear

we’ll get our costumes ready

all my geeky friends and I

with seams and brushes steady

wielding paint and glue and dye

we toil for love of fandom

and the characters we choose

pose solo or in tandem

in so many different shoes

always ready for pictures

we enjoy our fleeting fame

ignore the hateful strictures

no wrong way to play this game

for a moment in our lives

break away from all that’s real

and we’re satisfied to strive

to our own ego ideal

for the fiction we adore

work our fingers to the bone

not a hobby, something more

when we cosplay, we’re at home


The Ballad of Patti-Belle Mayfair

Young Miss Mayfair was just fifteen

With virtues pure and morals clean

And parents laying out her dreams

Said “Sweetling, you’ll be married.”


Young Miss Mayfair did not agree

No man alive she cared to see

Indignant and bewildered, she

Asked “Why should I be married?”


Young Miss Mayfair tried to explain

That wedlock’s cage would cause her pain

O’er her, a man would never reign

And she would not be married


Young Miss Mayfair’s suitor, he said

“I’ll see this through, or see you dead

now place this veil upon your head

and thus we will be married.”


Young Miss Mayfair’s sweet lips did frown

She sighed and gazed upon the ground

She would not wear that mournful gown

And she would not be married


The Mayfair parents were enraged

Their daughter was to be engaged

And thus pass on the family name

The girl had to be married


The suitor didn’t care a bit

He’d marry this blond, blue-eyed twit

Her fortune, he’d take all of it

So what? Sure, they’d be married


The Mayfair parents learned of this

The suitor’s rougeish scheming, his

ungentlemanly planning, “Kiss

the gold goodbye, no marriage!”


Young Miss Mayfair went further still

With appetites that she would fill

Her would-be groom she then did kill

And him, she would not marry


The Mayfair parents cheered her on

And chopped his body up at dawn

The would-be son of theirs was gone

Their daughter would not marry


My “forbidden joys”

I’m on Week 5 of my Artist’s Way journey, and I’ve been instructed to post this, a list of ten things I would love to do but am “not allowed” (that is, I’m not allowing myself). In no particular order, they are as follows:

  1. Carry a sketchbook
  2. Take a life-drawing class
  3. Get another tattoo
  4. Publish my poems
  5. Get another piercing
  6. Get a job cast as an extra
  7. Get some model work again
  8. Stream myself cooking
  9. Buy a fursuit
  10. Completely trick out all my blogs with slick new themes and my DSC button (and my Instagram button while we’re at it)