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It is me.

Poetry By: Sallacious

The soil in which I grew out of.

Submitted:Feb 18, 2013    Reads: 20    Comments: 4    Likes: 1   


It is me.

The girl who bought ice cream one summer,

who stared at a lady bird

in disgust and fear,

and fascination.

Who drew dirty pictures of the boy

I liked from school,

who sang along to Lucky by Britney Spears,

in blissful ignorance, and



It is me,

the girl who watched her mother bleed,

cry behind her sunglasses,

who hung off the climbing frame like a sloth

and waited long past

home time to go home.


It is me,

the girl who without fail, cut her toe

every time,

running from the outdoor pool in Victoria Park,

and refused to wear shoes,

the girl who had a strange feeling down there,

and made secrets

when she was alone,

the girl who questioned the existence of God,

with God,

late at night.


It is me,

the girl who wished for a bike, and kept riding,

when she couldn't,

until by sheer coincidence,

it seemed she knew how.

Who choked on the ball of cat hair, and

cuddled it closer,

and held it above a flushing toilet,

amused, for some reason.

It is me,

the girl who had hair more alien than

her voice,

who cried in front of the mirror and

stole her brothers weights

to get ready for a fight

that never happened.

Who started writing, and exploring

with make up, and food,

and mums thongs.


I am the girl who visited Henry the eighth's house

dressed as bugs bunny,

and hid in the house trees

with her brother,

and is probably still

there with him.

But now wearing different clothes,

in different rooms.



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