

PumpkinPumpkin. I have been called that name for years. I hate it. I hate my mother for calling me that, for instilling in my naïve young mind the idea that I was actually a pumpkin. Clearly, Im not. I dont grow among wide, green leaves, nor did I spend my childhood whispering to ants and cutworms as they crawled over me. No eager children turned me over, checking for rotted spots or discoloration. I do not have rotted spots. I hate that my mother could imply that.Pumpkin
Pumpkin. I am not orange. Not naturally, I mean. I once used that spray-on tanning solution when I was sixteen in an effort to convince myself that it was no
Don't respond to this if you do not like Chain letters.
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How many people can climb a staircase made of their own AWESOME? Well, I'm one of them...
Of course, if you don't know me then you'll think I'm some egotistical freak, won't you?
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You're no scarlet prim proper rose
Sing me your pretty prose
Lips pressed nose to nose
Legs entwined with twenty toes.
*cuddles a Kallen plushie*
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Yes, I could go for a frozen treat right about now. But no sprinkles.
And for every sprinkle I find, I shall kill you.
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