The Devil's Red Hair

Status: Finished

The Devil's Red Hair

Status: Finished

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The Devil's Red Hair The Devil's Red Hair

Poem by: parkelis

Genre: Children Stories

Houses:

Poem by: parkelis

Details

Genre: Children Stories

Houses:

Summary

Based on red-headedness (and the central character of Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables).

Summary

Based on red-headedness (and the central character of Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables).

Content

Submitted: June 16, 2011

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Content

Submitted: June 16, 2011

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“Truth be told,
Adoption is bad enough.
But to pick out
A monster-beast
Like one I’ve never
Placed my eyes on before,
that is a truly,
dreadful sin. 
By golly!
Her crimson hair is satanic
To its very deep-seated roots.
And she’s rather skeletal
And uneven looking.
Freckles: the tears of God
Befallen upon a
Forever-damned child.
Sorry, but
She’s rather homely,
And I wouldn’t ever
Keep her..”
 
How dare you say
The things you say?
 Who are you to tell me
That I’m not a Venus?
I can’t scold you
For lying,
Since, in all truthfulness,
You speak the world’s
Very verisimilitudes.
Yet, impaling my heart
With piercing daggers…
What do you make of it?
I know all the things
You have spoken of.
So why repeat them?
Oh! How I wish
For my wicked, scarlet-fever hair
To transform
Into a beautiful, August auburn.
Each night, beside my bed,
I pray for the very thing.
Praying alone doesn’t suffice;
My wants don’t ever become realities.
What am I to make of it?
I’m thin, yes,
But I’d rather be thin
Than a portly,
repulsive pig like you.
Well…that’s not exactly true
But I try to eat. 
And I know I’m thin,
Too thin,
Lost in the air
When I turn to my side. 
And I also am well aware
That the mirror
Shies away from my face;
It won’t look at me directly,
And I won’t look back either.
Freckles-
With a little blush,
I’ll conceal
The wet makings
Of our lord
And be a cherry-cheeked beauty
Like all my fellow schoolgirls. 
I’ve said all that you’ve said
To myself,
But when you say it
It hurts exponentially more.
I know the truths
Of my life,
But it hurts more
To see that
You see
all the imperfections
That lie in me. 
It’s fine for me to hate,
But when you hate too,
I turn blue
And red and all the colors of a hope that
Is slowly dying.
There goes one another hope into a buried
Sea
At Anne’s Graveyard
(Anne, with an “e”),
Where a collection of hopes
Wait to be dusted off
And looked at once more. 


© Copyright 2016 parkelis. All rights reserved.

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