What it feels like to despise ironic indie elitism.
Wed, 7 Jan 2009 at 01:10am
untitled
You never understood the words
That ran like stitching, deep as skin
Entailing patterns through but eyes
Expensive garments, cotton thin
You never understood the girls
Who sat around you, sipping tea
Lace trimmed, organza petticoats
And tainted lips of pink envy
You never understood the words
Stripped of home, in standard voice.
Universally intact
Their hours spent are grey with choice
You’ll never understand the girls
Who tear you up for seasoned grace
All shaped and bent to please yourself
You’ll never understand the chase
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themilkman
2009-01-08
kluny
2009-01-12
last line: exquisite.
