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she was done with words

whittle down
describe her
inscribe her epitaph

this is her long history
in brief
full of furious silence
and a little wrath

a head full of corkscrews
a smile full of fun
a snicker a snort
a wild-eyed wonder
an odd kinda job or

she, lived by the words
their words
then, fell on the sword

say say say, now

wasn't she a joy
wasn't she a grin
wasn't she oh
wasn't she
so so so
great for a laugh
good for a spin

but, odd, too, how she didn't
how she really couldn't know
who or what she was

it was their climbing on of words
all the description and defining like
the laying on of too too
many paws

how she didn't understand
she was highly regarded
by their score(s)
yet, not so by her siblings
nor her Father
or Mother

not so, nevermore

which made her
far too preoccupied,
with thinking herself sad
and believing herself too low

she didn't travel far or
often in life
believing she had nowhere
left to run or go

as she hid behind herself
the pain rarely let others in
to see her

pretending to be someone else
she let most guess at the truth
rather than trying to trust in
or believe in

she was done with words
the pity of them
and their echoing
the schooling of them
the refrain

and of the label of them
the label of
sane or


a quick, spontaneous write:
Copyright Tuesday, February 11, 2014
All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells
SITE: Tilt-a-World

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