Wednesday, April 15, 2015



There were times you didn’t approve
of me.
My adjectives were cheap,
my conceits tiresome.
I was a sentimental little thing,
you said.
I can’t tell
whether I have improved
over the years.
All I know is that,
each time I am reborn,
there are fewer words in me.
Gone are the adjectives
that used to make me beautiful.
I am an old woman’s song now,
dry and unforgiving,
and I pity no one.

NaPoWriMo Day 15
2015 April PAD Challenge, Day 15

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