Blossoming Locusts..


She is still mainly a strange

cogitative one.
With large brown eyes of other

and no bark.
She is caught touching another

girl in the bathroom: stall furthest from the slop

sink that had yet to reached her waist..

She is too young a sorceress - they are confused.


She is asked to sketch a picture of where it 

had first tickled her,

of where she had come to know too much. 



The middle miracle arrives with no heavy

greeting, but she comes with the birth 

of a prowling grief.


She is asked to

say it, 

out loud.



The self is its boldest bloodletter, the

blade - its tempered guide. 




She is still mainly a strange 

thinking one, but this time 

a measure of odd noises and 

reaching charm. 




She is the heirloom

of the pillage sometimes - She is 

the pride of some things, She is so often

caught giving them away.. 


She is bashful with the need to quell

the guilt, but it hammers through the

skull of the night and buries there

for seasons.

It is the brave’s plague

for choosing to walk on so many


MadamElle MadamElle
26-30, F
1 Response Jan 15, 2013

I'm gonna assume this is deep and intelligent - but I am neither of those, so I don't get it.

I think you're so intelligent that it leaves next to no room for emotional expressions.

That, however does not excuse your idiotic comment.

What would?

A lobotomy.

But...but... Mama-san... I'd rather have.. a bottle in.. front of me... kiii

Wow that last one makes me want to ******* kill myself. Sorry.

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