DrWorm (drworm) wrote,

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This poem is just so wrong

And it's for poetry class, thanks... which, after this week, I never have to go to again. Ha.

The Ballad of Twisted Hands

Born in the mountains of a mining town
Twisted Hands arrived to expectations
As he left his mother's womb
What he was greeted with were exclamations

"He'll never follow in my footsteps!" Father sobbed
"He'll never find work at all," Mother cried
And Twisted Hands slept beside her breast
And in his sleep he smiled and sighed

He grew to be healthy and sharp
A bright boy, happy with his lot
He romped and played with the butterflies
While the muscles in his hands twisted and fought

"Should we keep him here forever?" Mother queried
"He should have a proper education," Father decreed
The two decided he'd go to school with others
Despite deformity, and from his isolation be freed

They gave him an apple and a satchel for books
Escorted him to the town and introduced him to the teacher
Who gave him a smile rip with unease
And stared at his hands as if they were the next creature feature

Twisted Hands bid parents leave
He wanted to tackled this step alone
"Hello, pleased to meet you!" He held out his hand
The teacher seemed aghast at what she'd been shown

Still, she recovered quickly and pushed his limb away
"Here, have a seat. Other will arrive shortly."
And so they did, a million of them
Short, tall, thin, stout, weird, and portly

Each one gave Twisted Hands a withering glance
Concentrating quite solely on his palms
"Hello?" He tried his earlier approached
They sniffed at him; he tried to remain calm

"Looks like it could rain," he tried to converse
The other children whispered behind smooth hands
That did as they were told. Twisted Hands looked down
At his own, contorted like rubber bands
He kept quiet the rest of the day
Aware of what was so wrong
As the entire class laughed at him
The day stretched on so long

As soon as the final bell rang, Twisted Hands fled
Tears stung his eyes as he ran up the mountain
He was so distraught he barely noticed the storm
And the rain, pouring down like a fountain

He found himself climbing a particularly steep hill
Slick with rain and mud from the downpour
And as he reached to take another step, he fell
His coat held on the rock for a few seconds before it tore

His last hope was to grab hold with his hands
But, alas, his fingers they were tied
In muscle and sinew of birth defect
And on his first day on school, Twisted Hands died

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