HerA Poem by katnisscat
Her:
Her voice Shrill and strained and sickly sweet. A false emotion, all day, everyday. Her thanks Short, court, two words. A simple routine, no more, no less. Her movements Rushing, jerking, groaning, Just get things done and move on. Her glances Sad, disapproving, belie. Not caring enough to say, though. Her role Meaningless, a job, a weight. A title of mother, that's all.
© 2014 katnisscatAuthor's Note
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