I wrote this around three in the morning in a minute or so, so I know it's probably not that good, but I'd love anyone's critique, anyway. Thanks!
"Shabby Chic"
Poem by Victoria G
The gal's got torn stockings, her mother's jacket, and a smile borrowed from the five-and-dime.
She's ready to go, she's up for adventure, and she knows where to get a good cup of coffee for ninety-nine.
She's went past marching and does the fox-trot to her own personal drummer.
Books are her soul's sustenance.
She's greedy for a knowledge she's not exactly sure where to find, but is convicted by her own personal passion of existence.
The crumbles of her day-old muffin linger on her pink lips. She licks them away absent-mindedly as she reads lines of poets she's never known but speak to her heart.
This is all she needs, all she desires, an hour or two or three or four.
She doesn't notice the blending into moonlight and persistent cough of waiters.
How she loves Keats!
--Victoria G
"Shabby Chic"
Poem by Victoria G
The gal's got torn stockings, her mother's jacket, and a smile borrowed from the five-and-dime.
She's ready to go, she's up for adventure, and she knows where to get a good cup of coffee for ninety-nine.
She's went past marching and does the fox-trot to her own personal drummer.
Books are her soul's sustenance.
She's greedy for a knowledge she's not exactly sure where to find, but is convicted by her own personal passion of existence.
The crumbles of her day-old muffin linger on her pink lips. She licks them away absent-mindedly as she reads lines of poets she's never known but speak to her heart.
This is all she needs, all she desires, an hour or two or three or four.
She doesn't notice the blending into moonlight and persistent cough of waiters.
How she loves Keats!
--Victoria G