In the fork in the road just off Angel Place,
There is a smattering of stones and velvet lace.
And in this fork lies a bygone home,
Where visitors never feel wholly alone.
It is a long tale, indeed a tragic case
When raw ambition is beaten down and laid waste.
But desires don’t change as the decades are due,
Not when attention is such an expensive thing to pursue.
Once there was a man who adored porcelain skin and a fine face,
And there was an earnest woman who merely wanted a taste.
The fates were skillful at pulling the right strings,
Yet to be loved by all implied such impossible things.
With time they vanished without so much as a trace,
The enchanting features that once shaped Astrid Grace.
Boys dropped to their knees, tears drowning in cloudy rivers,
As girls used her name as a lesson of fruit so positively bitter.
How could beauty be so easy to erase?
Well, how can you be loved when a man will always see something to replace?
The woman he loved wore hemlock-laced rouge and lipstick, simply to be deemed unkempt.
There’s only so much to be done when your best quality is being a concept.
Georgia Hope writes queer fantasy with a southern gothic twist and essays that break down the turbulent relationship between adolescence and academia. Currently a high school senior in the state of Texas, her idea of a good time is exploring haunted small towns with a notebook, camera, and a large cup of iced coffee. When she’s not making her readers cry you can find her gathering more bizarre lore for her next story or having an existential crisis on her Instagram page @georgiainabook.
Featured image by Ludovica Dri on Unsplash.
