...There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions... The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot They don't write them like they used to, anymore. As a teenager, I drank up poetry like water.
The heat from the subway cars racing by The steam rising up from the tracks If I were a phoenix, then I would fly Get out of this city and rise from the ash I was a long-legged, skinny little thing, growing up. More bony little legs than anything, my parents used to call me Lexi Bird. Eventually, I was proud to note that my skinny little legs filled out a bit. These days, I'd even go so far as to say they could stand to be a bit more 'bird-like.' But the point is, as we all s