Last year, I got heavily into 19th century poetry. (My special interest is history & books, and here they overlap) sometimes my writing comes out a little Victorian, as do my inner voice lol
This one is about masking. Performing and putting in so much effort when no one really gives a shit.
From a poem I wrote:
It is acceptable to wear the cloak of performance as one might a costume in the hopes of impressing another.
In the same way one would exhume the finest china cups and saucers with delicate and fragile inlays from the quiet confines of the cupboard, just to be fancied, briefly, by a guest.
I post writing and drawing on insta at bebe.and.the.shell
Thanks for looking :)