Village Idiot Publishing (C) 2000 Diary of a Spirit
THE ARTISTS BLEEDING HEART
Thinking back at yesteryear, when I was a child.
That time when I would learn the skill,
Of printing in first grade.
Now drawing was the thing I loved,
That no one could deny.
But the teacher promptly told me,
I'd have to wait to write.
But writing was like drawing, and how I loved it so.
So I'd try and try, to write my name,
And hope she'd understand.
It was so much like drawing, it couldn't be that bad.
Now her name was Mrs. Linley,
A woman of years she was to me,
And stubborn as the day was long,
And would not hear my plea.
For after all I was a child,
And five years old at that.
So it didn't seem as if I'd win, or even state my case,
And when I told her dad was a cop,
She didn't seem to care.
I told her that he'd put her in jail,
If I couldn't have my way.
She was so darn insistent, she didn't seem to hear.
Oh how I knew, my life was foiled,
And I'd never get to draw.
But then one day it came to pass,
And she gave me a unicorn.
She said that I was to color it, and stay within the lines,
And I knew that my time, had finally come,
And I would be the star.
Now purple was my favorite color,
And I knew it would look swell.
I took my time, and stayed in the lines,
And made it look so good.
Then suddenly she saw my work,
And I knew I'd get and "A".
And an "A" was worth and ice cream cone,
And a ride in Dad's police car.
So I couldn't wait, to hear her say,
Yours is the best of all.
But oh the shock to hear her say,
"You're a dummy",
Unicorns don't look this way.
I was so embarrassed, and angered at her words,
How could she say it was all wrong,
When I knew it was the best,
And purple was so pretty, it was my favorite one;
And unicorns were magic, and any color would be just fine.
So I stood right up, and made my case, and told her like it was,
And in the spirit of, my bleeding heart,
I kicked her in the knee.
Now she put me in the closet, and made me stay a while,
As I shouted out emphatically,
"My dad is gonna put you in jail!"
Now dad was not so sympathetic, to the pleading of my heart.
He told me that he was mad at me,
And it nearly broke my heart.
So I told her I was sorry, and she said she understood.
For after all, it was a good job,
And at least deserved a "B".
But there wouldn't be an ice cream cone,
For making father proud.
But he still picked me up in his police car,
And that made it all worth it.