I usually don’t post my poetry, but thought I’d make an exception this time.
Cut, fold, throw
Straight to Origami hell
Cut the lines
Make the wings
Shape the tail.
It can’t fly though.
“Origami Mami, tell me why I can’t fly”
“Paper wings won’t get you far
Stay and just giggle
At my ghastly scissors
Because you won’t get far
My Origami baby
And be pretty
While I look witty
Making an itsy
I can fold them and put little hidden messages
In the corners of their wings.
Messages of strength
And send them to third world cities in disguise
Past the frontiers that scare us so
Past the leaders we despise,
Signed by Origami hero.
The third world cities will be surprised
At my bold and rebellious sabotage.
They will call the press,
Alert the media,
Prepare the army for my terrorist attacks.
And I’ll be dubbed Origami Kamikaze,
Dropping paper bombs on an unaware third world city.
They’ll put me away,
Have a shrink evaluate me,
A doctor will check my eyes and pulse
All the while looking excessively repulsed
At my Origami-making hands.
Then take a picture of me,
Looking like a skeletal cave person
With eyes sinking in
And ribs sticking out.
Then I will die.
And they will make an example of me:
“This is what happens when you get the deadly,
Of Origami Pathology.”
Written by Dima Matta
Photos by Dima Matta