The Library Book Molester
Note: I really don't feel all that passionate about books in general; it was just a funny little addition that popped up in my brain.
Every morning, I happily enter
The library, smelling the
Fresh leaves of my
Favorite books, new and old.
But then I see you.
You with your sky blue glitter gel pen,
The tip waggling away with your
Yellow pigtails held within
Those hot pink ribbons.
I see you scribbling away with your
Loathsome pictures and
Beautiful stories demolished by
Those hateful streaks of ink.
Your stars and hearts cruelly
Etched onto a leather bound Agatha Christie.
Each new item you pull out
Of that plastic handbag of yours.
May it be a jeweled highlighter
Or a bottle of flowery scented Wite-Out,
It slices up fat luscious paragraphs
into indigestible Spam cubes of sheer gossip.
I especially hate your loopy q's,
The bubble-headed a's and pregnant o's.
They make me want to throw up,
They really do.
Your handwriting screams, "Kill me,"
And I just might do it,
If I see your marred hands on
Another literary masterpiece.
Mary Jane, we really don't care
If "u h8 Sam" or "Mary + Mike = Y"
And we don't want to want to see it
Splattered onto a book of Charles Dickens.
Books are not bathroom doors
Or desks. You do not
Draw on them whenever you like.
I could hand you mountains of bills,
For the books you have destroyed.
You may as well rip out all the pages
You wrote on. It'll save us
All the grief of seeing it.
I want to rip that lip gloss
Out of your hand.
Wipe all the mascara
Off your chubby face. And make them damage
You for a change.
I want to tear out all your vandalized pages,
And throw them at your face.
Screaming a laughing at the same time.
I hate you, Mary Jane.
I don't want to see your
Graffiti-ed face every day.
I want to sell you to the circus
That's where you
Plum-primped clowns belong.
And because then
The underfunded library
would be able to
Purchase a readable copy.