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jilted

my thoughts are crabbed and sallow
my tears like vinegar
or the bitter blinking yellow
of an acetic star

tonight the caustic wind, love
gossips late and soon,
and i wear the wry-faced pucker of
the sour lemon moon

while like an early summer plum,
puny, green and tart,
droops upon its wizened stem
my lean, unripened heart

by sylvia plath

sometimes words can't even express how i feel, so i borrow from those who go before me. quaintly surprised, i was flipping through my "little black book(of poems, self written and those i like)" and i stumbled upon this plath poem i took down about 3 years ago when i was still an angry teenager. actually, i think much of that anger has remained and developed into sarcasm. so forgive me for my sharp tongue.

however, i've never regretted being the way i am, albeit sometimes the cons outweigh the pros. words and language are my assets, although verbally, my nemesis - as i can speak without thinking. i do not apologize for it.





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