Mrrf.
i hate when i try to speak and the words get caught in my throat.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
birds; part II.
All he wanted was a mane to prove his roar--
so he cut it all off this morning,
scissor-snipped
the long gold his mother'd grown
and filled with flowers all his life.
He left it as a grave-marker
for that flower-haired little girl,
the one they mistook him for.
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