about it by Angela Thomas They'll write songs about and poems about it and dream about it, but they won't understand it. And for that matter, they won't understand me. I want to be taken seriously, I am not so old that I cannot feel, that I cannot love. I am not so old that I cannot dance. I can not dance. Not that I can't, but I won't. I'm afraid. I panic when I think about dancing and the room spinning and me losing my footing and tumbling down into something that I have no control over. There is no freedom here under this eagle's wings. No warmth in her nest, no hard cold cash in her palm. I am eligable and yet, I fly solo. Solo like the cups delivered from the carrier within the very same cargo space that housed her skirt hiked up against her thighs while he softly pressed into her and she wimpered. She cried out, "Please." He moved. 05/12/2005 Posted on 05/12/2005 Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)