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

Despicable statements.

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.

Sometimes,

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.