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Poetry By: Indie Skreet

I've never understood my mother; what makes her tick or how she sleeps at night. Some people have a great capacity to love and others ....................

Submitted:Jan 18, 2013    Reads: 26    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

Five foot ten in four inch heels

Shouts superiority

And what she chooses to reveal

Is not quite plain to see

Her hair is tonged and teased

The grey is blonded out

She always looks so pleased

And friends don't hear her shout

Manicured red varnish

To match her scarlet lips

A diamond broach garnish

As she sway's her buxom hips

Tailored dress or sweater

Boasts overgenerous bust

She pronounces every letter

'Hello darlink', with a gush

The photo on her dresser

A 20 year old dame

The beauty any lesser

Or simply just the same?

And is there any beauty

Glowing in her heart

Or is it out of duty

She simply plays a part?

And I wonder what she thinks

When alone with her thoughts

If admits any chinks

And sees where she falls short?

For my pretend mother

Is beautiful outside

But I'd like to uncover

When and why the inner died.


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