Virginea Wolfed '65

[arbitraryarmor]

Virginea's soul was crammed in to her eyes;
she cried because her body she despised.
Young lust her drug, an easy pill to swallow.
Today she's mine...she's anyones tomorrow.
From archives. tectak 1965
Apologies to Barbara Streisand

Honestly, the only line that sticks out to me as original in this four-liner is the first one. Each other one is one that we've heard before; perhaps you could use creative language to say it in a new, fresh, and/or different way? After reading this poem, the one thing I want most from the writer is for them to expand on what they touched on in this poem. Why did she despise her body, yet have so much lust? What does that feel like for her? For you? Make it personal, make it raw, make it come from within. Make it contain observations someone couldn't just make with their eyes, but rather their heart.