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who else but me looks down at there feet |
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The Hand |
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Creepy hand formations |
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Trying to learn how to fly any suggestions |
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Clogs!!!!!! |
Je suis wearing
romper- from girl's best friend Forever 21 similar one
here
widest belt i own- vintage
button down- J. crew
Kimono fringe thingy- Urban Outfitters similar one
here
clog seen in only on of these pictures- slightly used (vintage)
Creepy Witch photos with weird kimono taken by Mary Frisby
Recently i wrote an Ode. Now you probably puzzled right now staring at your computer screens thinking what is an Ode something you feed a horse or something in an entire different class maybe its a species of alien? Well an Ode is none of the above. An Ode is a letter like poem written about a deeply appreciated event, occasion, thing, place exc. Or in My case my midget size closet.
Now presenting my deep meaning poetic Ode to that room inside a room, a closet..............
Ode to My Closet
You bear 3 white
walls with a door barely attached to its hinges,
You hold some of my greatest
treasures
To my fringe kimono,
that does not want to break its hold from anything, anything.
To my lavender
graduation dress like graduating elementary school deserves a full blown out
ball gown.
You are a jar full of
fireflies.
A square box that
holds tiny pieces of light that I treasure as if they were life.
One of these tiny
glass light bulbs of light that illuminate the empty darkness within my closet
is that of the white shearling fur shrug that hangs on a matching white plastic
hanger
All though I oppose
of anything of real fur the clean white fur on this shrug is just lovely and
makes me feel as if I were a polished wealthy lady floating down white marble
steps while money floats about me as I fan myself with hundred dollar bills supplying
myself a brief cool relief.
But my dear closet
puzzles on whether or not to spit this white fur shrug out fore it does not
match anything else that hangs on white plastic hangers.
And for this the fur
object floats about the rows and rows of silk and cotton obviously the oddball
in the group.
And my closet knows
this it makes this perfect white object stand out telling me it does not belong
it should not be there among the rest of my rugged clothing.
That is how well this
tiny room inside a room knows me it knows what I am and what am not, a rich
lady who fans herself with money
You, room inside an
room, are a shoebox of memories, you bear the pink t-shirt scattered with
graphic cherry blossoms and red sauce stains that reminds me of the great pasta
I had from my short lived Washington D.C. trip and how I wish to go back there
one day.
I once was afraid of
you. You, who has become Girl’s best friend,
I once thought you
held Lord Voldemort, with his overgrown fingernails and pasty pale skin, behind
your white closed door. I would lay awake staring up at the small hole on my
arched ceiling, the hole that once held a pink canopy to protect me from you.
The situation has
surly changed.
In Later years when I
started to develop into more of a character you grew as well the row and rows
of cloths mounted to squish together against the rock hard white wall.
When my friends and I
played hide and seek and they hid in your dark interior. They knocked over the
poles that held my tiny bulbs of light. Blanketing your dark mahogany floor
with suede dresses, velvet coats, and silk garments. It was then at that time that
I realized I cared for you.
I cared if your
admirably interior fell like a Knight falling in battle
I care now if you are
disorganized like my social studies binder
Though you are small
and dark with the only color from your interior being the very subtle rays of
color pigment that reflects off of my valuable wear.
You contain golden
treasures of fur, silk, and velvet.
You have a deep musky
smell. You smell of feet (because I despise socks).
Your smell is a
sweaty natural stink mixed in with the smell of the seaside detergent that
brings me to the giant waves of Montauk.
This is a smell that
is unidentified though it stinks like the fumes of a skunk I enjoy it ever so.
Fore it reminds me of
you.
I know if I had any
posters of cute boy bands that they would be plastered on one of your 3 small
walls.
But I don’t.
You remind me
everyday that my sense of style is different then the normal girls.
You remind me that I
prefer to wear dresses and heels over jeans and sneakers
It is you, dear closet,
that I look at as a reflection of myself you are a mirror of my self and that
is why I am ever so fond of you.
You hold the extra
layer of skin that I place on my self to make me uniquely me.
One day far away you
may be replaced.
Your stuffed up
interior now hollow like an Oreo loosing its stuffing.
But as I lay my eyes
years from now on your dark mahogany floor no longer covered with a thick layer
of shoes.
I will emanate a
bittersweet smile thinking to my self there is nothing like you Women’s best
friend, the closet
Enjoy!!