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Like The Wind In The Middle Of The Night

The Hoping

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Your Next New Dying Black Swan


I'm hollow.
I know of a certain emptiness.
I've nothing to give
If it is not wanted.
Is it for men to fill me up,
But men touch me not.
They sample only from the surface,
It is a disservice
To me.
To desire
And not to be possessed.
To un-love
To be shunned
To be not like the rest.
To be sad
To be an angry angry girl.
Yes, takers took
Permanently altering my world.
So I bargain with myself,
Hold on,
Try not to shake.
Hide away from these feelings,
Knowing all the plans
I cannot make.
Tell me please
How can I keep self-satisfied?
When so many undeserving get
What I myself cannot try.
This is not about temptation.
This is about tenderness.
A burnt moth's disintegration,
Is what the world is seeing...
I am hollow
I know emptiness.
No oaths or vows
No shrug or jest
I need no hand-held mirror
To see this ugliness.
But feel its brand,
though truth be told...
I am a slave
The scar is deep,
The scar is old.
Should I decide to fling it back
Reverse the sling and arrows
Name the lack?
You'd simply live on
And search until you found
Your next new dying black swan.



Copyright December 2008 All Rights/Ideas/Stories Reserved and are the legal property
of this AUTHOR: Melissa A. Howells/Meloo from her Copyrighted site> Tilt-a-World


Adendum /March 2013:
Yes, to those/any who've asked. This is auto-biographical.
And the idea for this came out long before that movie with
the ballet dancer in the black swan wings and tutu.

LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS WORK
FOR THIS SITE TITLE
BY THIS AUTHOR/WRITER MELISSA A HOWELLS





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