I am challenging myself to write a post every single day in May, to kickstart my writing again. I will be following some prompt words that I ‘stole’ from somebody on instagram. Here is my seventeenth post.
Hundreds and thousands,
Atop white icing,
Atop a cake,
On a plate,
Covered in foil.
Wrapped in a plastic bag,
Shoved
Mercilessly
At the bottom of my schoolbag.
For I was ashamed
Of the cake
My mother toiled all night to make,
for the school fair.
Don’t ask me why.
It was perfectly lovely,
Soft, yellow vanilla sponge
Simple, perfect flavours,
And the sparkly fun of hundreds and thousands decorating the top.
I just didn’t want to be
That GIRL.
WHAT girl, pray tell?
The one who carries a cake onto a bus where the boy she secretly crushes on sits coolly at the front, NOT carrying a cake.
Don’t ask me what nonsense goes on in the minds of twelve year olds.
When I got on the bus..
That boy was carrying a cake.
And most of the other kids
Had some kind of home-made concoction in their laps too.
I felt stupid
And sad.
For my cake,
On it’s plate
With white icing
And hundreds and thousands
Was a flattened, crushed mess.
And my heart, now, today, at 25
Wrings in sadness
At the thought of the love and care
That went into that cake,
As my mother,
toiled through the night
To see a sparkle
in her daughter’s eyes.
I love you mama.
They look delicious
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That day, they really were!
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