You'll get Yours -- Tooth for Tooth

12 when I wrote this, from the perspective of a mushroom. My gills grasping at air, but the grass is not too far; My scales glimmering stupidly to shine through watered tar. And in the gaseous tarmac world, I shine here far too bright, And oh, the air, too stale if for my gills to get it right. I long to build a house and make a living off of sticks, Press flowers to make bookmarks. Feather ink dips. And for one day, to hear ... a knocking or a rattle Of rats and pigeons at my door. To me, should they grapple I wished to fly away with birds, claws ripping flesh and all To find my new roots in the sky: frail, delicate, tall. I wished to burrow in the ground when I must collapse. I wish to hide me from the world. I wish for a relapse. A tingle down my stem, my gills no longer pulchrify My dirtied shine, my residue: I tell you, "eye for eye." This vivid tarmac world around me, perfectly reflecting How little you appreciated when we were worth defending.