VERSION 3: ( edited S2 L1 ten minutes later
thank you Leanne!)
Prick of lips, smearing dye, sticks needles
through my spindled eye; in the darkness
I spin, a splendid gold thing. I spin.
In the day we sit happy. He and I,
opposite cups of tepid tea
under ever after weather,
clinking only as we stir.
How I miss hands and knees rough
from praying to the floors, calluses alive.
The indignity of hate feels less now,
less than the indignity of love.
Our chats are mild - hopesdreamswishes -
and my voice well hides the sounds of mice;
crawling, clawing, beneath the paradox
of one glass shoe.
VERSIONS 2: (a very severe rewrite
)
Prick of lips, smearing dye, sticks needles
through my spindled eye; in the darkness
I spin, a splendid gold thing. I spin.
In the day we sit happy. He and I,
opposite cups of tepid tea
under ever after weather,
clinking only as we stir.
I miss it. Hands and knees rough
from praying to the floors, calluses alive.
The indignity of hate feels less now,
less than the indignity of love.
Our chats are mild - hopesdreamswishes -
and my voice well hides the sounds of mice;
crawling, clawing, beneath the paradox
of one glass shoe.
VERSION 1:
This needs a lot of work... please suggest something
Queen
Sticky lips
smearing dye
stick needles
through a spindled eye
Sits splendid as
He sips his tea
All too important
Not to speak
And wonders
how she misses
when callouses
cared enough to hurt;
Smiles near perfect
as she hides the sound of mice
under the heel of her
one glass shoe
thank you Leanne!)Prick of lips, smearing dye, sticks needles
through my spindled eye; in the darkness
I spin, a splendid gold thing. I spin.
In the day we sit happy. He and I,
opposite cups of tepid tea
under ever after weather,
clinking only as we stir.
How I miss hands and knees rough
from praying to the floors, calluses alive.
The indignity of hate feels less now,
less than the indignity of love.
Our chats are mild - hopesdreamswishes -
and my voice well hides the sounds of mice;
crawling, clawing, beneath the paradox
of one glass shoe.
VERSIONS 2: (a very severe rewrite
)Prick of lips, smearing dye, sticks needles
through my spindled eye; in the darkness
I spin, a splendid gold thing. I spin.
In the day we sit happy. He and I,
opposite cups of tepid tea
under ever after weather,
clinking only as we stir.
I miss it. Hands and knees rough
from praying to the floors, calluses alive.
The indignity of hate feels less now,
less than the indignity of love.
Our chats are mild - hopesdreamswishes -
and my voice well hides the sounds of mice;
crawling, clawing, beneath the paradox
of one glass shoe.
VERSION 1:
This needs a lot of work... please suggest something
Queen
Sticky lips
smearing dye
stick needles
through a spindled eye
Sits splendid as
He sips his tea
All too important
Not to speak
And wonders
how she misses
when callouses
cared enough to hurt;
Smiles near perfect
as she hides the sound of mice
under the heel of her
one glass shoe
PS. If you can, try your hand at giving some of the others a bit of feedback. If you already have, thanks, can you do some more?