The Owls and The Mouse

A wannabe prosecutor emulating the trial, striking down the fear of perfectionism into a small child. Remember the haze, remember the cage, now rage is where I'll be setting the phasers. I smiled in fluorescent light, scowled within the dark night, and imagined my dad holding me when the sky turned white. I'm a porcelain painting, frail and up for interpretation. Tourists walk by claiming they understand my situation . But I don't like your monocle in my identity, and sorry but your breath smells like prejudice to me... and no, I don't clean my clutter religiously, so you can judge my mess and go on with your ignorance please. My one defense is that I know I'm helpless, so I don't want your opinions cause I know I need my own stance. That's right, girl with hot feet and I'm treading on thin ice. You may have tread on me, but I won't let it happen twice.