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What it feels like to despise ironic indie elitism.

1841
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
themilkman
2009-01-08
kluny
2009-01-12
last line: exquisite.