Southern GothicaA Poem by Angelheaded HipsterWe all grow old...She is an inkspot in the world, the spidery writing leaving blots and smudges all over the parchment of her youth.
Her quill is slowing as it is, life has a knack of running down even the sharpest minds.
she could have been a fighter for all that is good and whole, she could have been...
Instead, she is content with the life she carved out for herself, with steady paid bills, a nine-to-five job, and an almost welcome-to-all home.
Her family comes and goes, she has long since cut the apron strings, witness the bacterial infected kitchen whose stove has seen holidays with pitter patterings of tiny feet and squeals, mixed conversations over the finest sweet tea the south has ever seen.
But that was rather long ago, she is succumbing to her twilight hours, in the best way she knows how.
She is an inkspot in this world... © 2010 Angelheaded HipsterFeatured Review
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9 Reviews Added on February 3, 2010 Last Updated on February 3, 2010 AuthorAngelheaded HipsterMy name is Amber....my friends call me.....Amber, GAAbout"God made my body and if it is dirty, then the imperfection lies with the Manufacturer, not the product. Do not remove this tag under the penalty of the law." ~ Lenny Bruce "I don't care to belong .. more..Writing
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