I feel as if
I was only given one choice.
I could be exactly like him,
as genetics dictated
or just like her
a person I absolutely hated.
Well now as life is so cruel
the tables have turned around
I am like her more than ever
and despise him more, I've found.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Tickle your toes. . .
-
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
-
Though it hasn't been months since I have written and attempted edits within my memoir, it has been quite some time since I have reflect...
-
Recently I have been really attempting to delve into what it means to be a poet. Jim Morrison once wanted to be a poet, and look where it go...
-
My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
-
I was just awarded the Stylish Blogger Award! (awarded by John Evans ) I was asked to write 7 things about myself,and to award 10 ot... -
motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
-
Cal, For Elizabeth Bishop You are American gossip, Didn't anyone have the heart to tell you? You said yourself, you are fantastic and u...
-
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
-
stuck-wallpaper, tickled, matted-madness, in the morning before matinee wallflowers at school dances just want to be asked. ask them. they...
-
the top of today's to do list: figuring out why I became a poet. it was wheeling in my head while i drove to work this morning. less whe...
Poets United Contributor
aww...ain't that always the way it goes. but you can change her legacy by creating your own. <3
ReplyDeleteBravo.
ReplyDeleteThis is profound.