---
I was born digging a hole upward,
so I could see life.
I hear sounds I knew I heard
before I was born.
I feel perfectly fine 'bout myself;
never felt forlorn.
Only that I sound deeper,
people say that my voice sounds
like the poor Little Fussbudget's
whose name strangely sounded
like my leasing-monger name.
Never heard of her until that,
but when they call her childlike name,
I turn my head, raised a brow
'cause I am not so doubtful
it sounds like "Lady Prideful."
That day's tomorrow, I woke up
and overheard I was here
for Little Fussbudget's Grim Reaper--
the so-called angelic beast--
has helped me a lot.
They say a tomb is a womb for me,
and I bleed transparency:
fragile tears and shattered glass.
If that's so,
I admired my blood.
I heard someone
tell me that my name is not good.
I wrote my name
on a clean sheet of smooth parchment.
It showed, "Lady Prideful."
If that's so,
I despised my name
and tried to cut it.
---
YOU ARE READING
Parade
Poetry𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚 ╰ a s e r i e s o f p o e m s ╰ c o m p l e t e d Little Fussbudget knew nothing but her shelf of problems in her innocent world... not until she was silenced by an angelic beast. In the endless parade she joined, find out the trut...
