Fact Tales
I grew up hearing and reading stories, tales, myths, and fables as a child.
Werewolves, vampires, ghosts, mermaids, evil witches,
the sorts.
As a child, I believed in these stories and characters as they both fascinated yet scared me.
Fascinated that I was living in a realm of extraordinary beings.
Scared that I might run into these extraordinary beings.
As I grew up, I started hearing and reading stories about facts, statistics, and experiences.
Rapists, despoilers, assaulters, ravagers, ravishers, defilers, deceivers, attackers, the sorts.
As a woman, I believed in these stories and characters they both fascinated yet scared me.
Fascinated that I was living in a realm that allowed these beings to roam.
Scared that I might run into these beings… once again.
The fairy tales I grew up on were nothing more than sugar-coated perversion of what awaited me outside of my safe haven.
As if a man would come to my rescue to save me from his mangy, pack dog friend who howls at me when he observes what big breasts I have.
Scared to walk by myself in daylight and nightfall because the moment they were exposed to a full moon, you could see their great, big teeth and great, big ears perk from the enjoyment of the hunt.
Howling at me like, “Why so down, darling? Put a smile on that beautiful face of yours to please our souls. We’re only asking politely. ”
Don’t make eye contact with their great big eyes or else you’ll end up the belly of the beast like grandma did.
Like grandmother.
Like my grandmother.
….
Caution for the weary travelers that travel at night!
Beware, the vampire who latches on your neck, they'll try to kiss and swoon you like a wood that pecks.
Remember the rhyme to live another time.
"Women in groups of three, only one will get hurt, the two can leave.
But women who travel in groups of four, will leave one behind as the leech's whore.
Men who pack in flocks of four, are no strangers to the vampires allure.
Three to be safe, but one is enslaved,
Others, unlucky enough to see their graves.
Hollow graves and heavy rivers
These tortured souls refused to be forgotten.
They haunt not the hollow wood of homes nor swing from chandeliers like strange fruit.
Their bodies become passports stamped onto thy soul
Collecting pieces of their sanity from dusk till dawn.
They refuse to be forgotten.
They refuse to be put to rest
Until their ravisher’s soul becomes restless like their anguish.
Becomes damaged like their morality.
Becomes entangled in the brush fire of chaos
For if there was no justice, they see to it there will never be peace.
If thy shall travel by sea, please be weary.
Sirens, though beautiful and immortal,
These predators are no stranger to the young sailors at sea.
They woo young sailors with their beauty and song
yet blind them to the dangers that befall them
before jagged rocks meet climactic end.
Though men tend to brag about
being in the arms of a mermaid
so beautiful yet ancient,
it would take them years and maybe a millenia to realize
that they were the victims of predators not chosen ones of the elite.
Black hats and black cats.
Black shoes and tied noose.
Witches bubble cauldron galore,
Cast thy trap for children, hold door.
Rob them from cradles, stay fast asleep.
Must not wait till they ripen or
they won’t be satisfied to eat.
Traffic their bodies for black market coin,
There’s even a high bid for young children’s groins.
Source close but fly far and travel by broom,
to find the next giddy child to be a mortal’s groom.
Welcome to the world of dreams turned nightmares.
Where fantasy is survival and fairy tales are warnings.
Can you still tell the difference between fantasy and your reality?
