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theglassteacup's Journal
Created on 2008-04-12 12:05:56 (#15357841), last updated 2008-11-09
4 comments received, 15 comments posted
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| Name: | Exaggerating like a poet; cussing like a sailor. |
|---|
Amy;
When you straddled your whittled rocking horse of childhood myth and rhyme, I was the kinda kid your mother told you never to invite to afternoon tea. So you threw malicious rocks formed by cruel words, punishing me for all the injustice in your life, which you were too young to comprehend but still the stinging was already imbedded in a young collapsing mind.
With furrowed brows you bore the brunt of golden generation gone. Those words falling upon my head as if these stick and stones were built to last. In my best Sunday dress I was content to smile coyly and pay the blood fued of being the centre of your universal hate. Mocking eyes grin, a dance of dimples and the air of the upper hand as I was graced with wasting another moment of your wonderfully miserable life.

When you straddled your whittled rocking horse of childhood myth and rhyme, I was the kinda kid your mother told you never to invite to afternoon tea. So you threw malicious rocks formed by cruel words, punishing me for all the injustice in your life, which you were too young to comprehend but still the stinging was already imbedded in a young collapsing mind.
With furrowed brows you bore the brunt of golden generation gone. Those words falling upon my head as if these stick and stones were built to last. In my best Sunday dress I was content to smile coyly and pay the blood fued of being the centre of your universal hate. Mocking eyes grin, a dance of dimples and the air of the upper hand as I was graced with wasting another moment of your wonderfully miserable life.

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