We sit side by side, backs to the world,
enclosed in our personal kingdom
five feet wide and three feet deep,
the sun above us a single bulb,
night and day controlled by a tattered string,
with shadows in the corners
watching, and waiting.

Each with our own tiny pairs
of purple and green plastic scissors,
we wield our swords of power
over these
slaves, these servants, these pawns, these
helpless plastic bodies.
Snip, snip, snip,
and we change reality to suit our ten year old tastes,
hair falling like a
gleaming, glittering, waterfall,
sinking out of sight
into the bottom of a little pink can,
suffocated beneath a blanket of tissues.

Alone and together,
we take control of our kingdom
until we ourselves become helpless bodies
to those more powerful than us
and our masters take up their
shears.
Snip, snip, snip,
they change us to suit them.