pity party

he was a pink cloud

disguised as

a black tempest

just a little vapor

of cotton candy

plotting to rain

on tomorrow’s parades

just a little

pity party

with condensation

as confetti

a. duncan, 2017

 

 

 

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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