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Ani DiFranco, Promised Land |
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Hello, I'm new here. I'm sure you see many introductory posts, and I don't think mine will be any different. Heh, sorry to bore you. I joined this community because it looked interesting, and it probably will be.
My name is Lisa. I'm recently sixteen. I'm a sophomore in high school currently residing in Connecticut. I write poetry a lot, but I don't belive I'm very good. I am a (partially recovered) purging anorexic. I dance ballet, tap, jazz, lyrical, hip-hop, and I do many, many other things. Sometimes I like to entertain the thought that I'm creative and interesting.
So hi there.
All right, I seem to be under the impression that this is a poetry community. If I'm wrong, I apologize. So I guess I'll post a poem. This one is entitled Seraphic. It's a free-verse piece with no meter. Yea, it's not about me; it's about someone I despise and loathe and all that good stuff. Enjoy. And comments and critiques are extremely welcomed, of course.
Seraphic
For the masses to see her beautiful and dead, would be a dream come true. Her words are inked on the page as if her own lips kissed each phrase onto the paper.
Martyrdom: how she needs to be seen. Wishes to see herself, elegantly perched upon a crucifix; and no one else would make as sublime a sufferer as she.
She's not adored nor cherished. Never beautiful, but maybe she could almost pass for simple. And sometimes, I think she knows it. I think I need her to know it.
She isn't a graven image, but you know she wants it. Surreptitious self-loathing is too strong, and she's her own poison. Synonomous to an oleander: Toxic and seraphic.
If vanity is masochism, then in essence she's only killing herself. Or is she just a masochist?
For the masses to see her beautiful and dead, would be my pleasure.
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