Alice and Me

Let’s get one thing straight, I am not Alice.

My Wonderland and her’s are different things;

Her’s had talking animals and malice,

Mine has a dissimilar kind of beings.

 

My beasts impose a sense of peculiarity.

Their giant structure and inflamed eyes,

None of the sort of Alice’s regularity,

With the  end of  the Jabberwocky dies.

 

They look as if they were the meaning  of grace,

But with a fumble and a creak: failure.

Their very presence just screamed to “Get me the mace!”

But on contrary, their manner was sweeter.

 

Let’s get one thing clear, I am not Alice.

My Wonderland and her’s are distinctive things.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741