In part because today is a celebration of poetry, and in part because I simply cannot have Harry Potter's pelvis at the top of my blog any longer:
A woman I know who's quite blunt
Had a bear trap installed in her...
Oh, you know. It's a base, vernacular term for "vagina"
- David Sedaris, Me Talk Pretty One Day
I've never been a big poetry fan. It's too stifling and/or pretentious for me. Whenever I read poetry or, God forbid, attempt to write it, I feel like I'm playing the part of "someone who reads poetry." Kind of like that scene in Cruel Intentions where Reese Witherspoon's pristine, virginal character is wearing a teeny tiny skirt and yet is posed sitting on a blanket under a sun-dappled tree, reading from a leather-bound book and sitting up with impossibly good posture, as if so full of self-righteousness that she is physically unable to slouch. That is the kind of girl I picture myself aping when I read poetry.
Give me the amateur charms of messy, verbose prose any old day.