The Gingerbread Man

The Gingerbread Man

Who do you think you are making me into a cookie?
I wasn’t put on this earth to be used,

abused by moms, red hot ovens, and bratty kids, 
which goes for the slobbery smelly one too.

I was born pure.  Not meant for dro-o-o-o-o-l.

I feel like a fool.

Oooops…Mama! Waaaaa - I stepped on him! He’s bent! 

Gimmeee, waaaaa, waaaaa, waaaaa, another one like that!

No problem sweetie, says Mama.
Sweetie, my burnt backside – he’s a brat!

I’m the one who’s sweet – sugar all over my head,

turned into crumbs on Little Brat’s bed.

Here you go sweetie, a bell.  Daddy will bend him back.

Replaced by a bell?  What the hell!  I’m a man!

Back to the Torture Chamber – Daddy’s den.

Pliers again to the head.

You’re okay now, son.

Son!  Think again, Scotch Breath!

Back to the cutting board goes I
Yes!  Mr. Gingerbread Man – I'm the best!

Why, God. . . Why?

I’ll never amount to anything else.

I’m just a bloody cookie cutter - used, abused,

then thrown in a drawer with Santa and his elves,

while my sugared hot self cools on the shelf.

I am what I am – a Gingerbread Man.
Nothing more, nothing less,
than a mess.

ldn