Tragic Little Girls

starry eyed
staring out windows
adorned with crystal droplets
left to magnify the emerald fields that much more
a foreign town, a fairy tale
for tragic little girls like us.

immersed in ink, charcoal smears
darkly laden thoughts
impermeable to a world so unlike this
to a world so real compared to Zion.
lost ourselves in bayou bridges and
forgetful Tallulah timetables
drowned were the ideas
mediocrity had spun with our innocence
but we didn’t flail,
only thrived in the murky waters.

lovely then,
so different than we are now.
they stopped us in cobblestone streets
pretty ladies
oh beautiful girls
such sweet southern belles are rare nowadays
Georgia peach.
they stopped us
only for our shy smiles to intrigue them
accents thick as the swamp
trying to catch a glimpse
of tragic little girls like us.

never more so like children
and maybe we were
never more so like god
and maybe we were
nevermore so tragic
than bright eyed whispers.

with tears suited only
for the ebb and tide
an ocean’s blue contained us
in its unfathomable depths we drowned
flaxen haired and amber eyed
earth mother dying to possess us,
as she never had before.
succumbing we drowned
every inch of inspiration
in the depths of such inky waters.
so that Zion could remain sacred.
forever remembered as
pretty ladies
taken in by the moon’s thickening grip.
forever forgotten
as tragic little girls.


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