there is nothing wrong

i am ripping up a dozen pieces of paper
with half-written poetry
scribbled on
and flinging them around the room.

my mom will go ballistic
but i don't care.
global warming will rise
but i don't care.

my brother will mourn
the paper planes that cannot be folded
deftly and sent soaring.
i prefer their flight this way, i think.

i have accidentally ripped the handle off
my birthday present music box
in my vicious turning.
it's not such a small world after all,
i tell the smiley face.

i shall go stick my shrunken head in the nearest incinerator
and hope i have collected enough
good karma
to be reincarnated as a fairy queen
or something.

-kismet. 29th march.

a/n: I have nothing to say any more. It don't matter.