Friday, July 8, 2011

15. A Love Letter

There is something about your haughty attitude
that makes me loathe each fibre of you.
Sardonic, domineering - oh, infernal grin.
How I wish to tear you limb from limb!

Then why must I be so foolish,
Exuberant, wary, hurt by turns?
How many times has an "innocent" twinkle
deceived me to no end?

I have become my own mother,
chiding myself to
no avail.

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One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson