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Sep 26
poetry
Yellow Sweater's picture
Yellow Sweater

Tar and Feathers

I left my room to cry in the park. 
I hoped the smell of wet grass
would trigger the primal part of me 
that fabricates tears. 

After a few sad songs, 
a few sips of too hot tea, 
a few breaths of thick air, 
I squeezed salty water 
from my eyes,
into my hands. 

The dirt is softer than 
my polished hardwood floor, 
the grass is greener
then a poisonous Victorian hat.  

I rearrange my skirt, 
and worry about my mascara. 

Why must I feather myself 
Instead of washing off the tar?
 
  • Yellow Sweater's blog
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Posted: 09.26.20
Yellow Sweater's picture
About the Author: Yellow Sweater
MSG / CONTACT
RECENT LOVES
  • Winter (seasons, personified)
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RECENT COMMENTS
  • "they burn in daylight,
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Discussion

Comments

  1. moonsand
    Sep 26, 2020

    this was truly beautiful. it sounds so “gentle” and “lulling” (I don’t even know if that makes sense) but at the same time it has such a deep meaning.

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  1. Yellow Sweater
    Sep 26, 2020

    thank you!

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YWP is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists. We're based in Burlington, VT, and we welcome young creators from anywhere!
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