She awoke one fine cupcake morning,
Blue skies and nary a cloud in sight.
Village windows remained shuttered,
Terrific beasts tethered to the night.
It was a fine day indeed.
She had the invitations,
Colloquial and drawn in invisible ink.
Balloons of her favorite shades,
Faded blues and washed out grays,
Floated about the room;
Specters all their own.
Nine thirty and a quarter past second five.
She clasped her hands,
When only a strangers shadow
Fell upon the door.
“Am I late?”
An echo from empty marble halls.
“I do love parties after all.”
She tugged at cotton candy curls
And a dress of a more bland sort.
“Of course, of course.
Just lay your grievances down here.
After all, isn’t that what pity parties are for?”
Explore – As in this is a bigger idea but this a little silly poem to explore it some.
Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch