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& The Truth

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& The truth is, I am not

pretty and the bluebirds do not

sing of my coming.

I am a barrel skirt, wrapped tightly

round beauty’s dainty finger, wavering feebly

(weak little heart)

& the truth is, I am not

subtle or demure or gentle.

My rib cage does not bloom with cliches,

and my collarbones do not taste of lavender.

My eyes are every day eyes, every day

knuckling under, bowing before

watermelon eyes and peach pit eyes

(barren little soul)

& the truth tells me in her

barbed wire tongue, that wings

are only as good as the bodies

that house them,

& the truth tells me so

(devilish ampersand)



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tori-gurlThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
today at 11:28 pm:
I loved this poem! Just everything about it was awesome! good job
 
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