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Centerpiece. A beautiful arangement in the middle of a table. Many centerpieces are for hollidays or seasons. Its just plain without one.
By k654 on 12.05.2011
somthing on the center of a table.used at holidays.
By nathan on 12.05.2011
By . URL on 12.05.2011
The centerpiece of the room was a big clock. Big beautiful, and striking. It was the first think that Suzy saw when she entered the house, and also the last. It sent a chill down her spine when she realised this. This clock. was HER LIFE.
Yeah i kinda ran out of steam
By Alex Ainsworth on 12.05.2011
On the mantle of my mother’s life, I was the centrepiece. I was in some way, her greatest accomplishment. Where she had failed, fallen short or missed the opportunity, my existence seemed to counteract all of it. In her eyes I was her piece of perfection- the one thing she could not, and did not screw up. I came to understand this at a young age and I basked in her love and coddling, while my brother stood on the sidelines, watching our mother love me more. But as I grew older, the expectations rose and it became harder for me to please her. Being her beautiful, blonde ringleted, smiling daughter simply wasn’t enough anymore. I needed to be smarter, I needed to be skinnier. Bad grades, weight gain, missing a ballet class, hitting a sharp note during the Christmas concert, even a bad hair day, were all unacceptable. The punishment of her silence when I failed was unbearable and I began to resent her and envy my brother. I longed to have his hollowed and dark features and black scraggly hair. I wished to be as forgotten and neglected, so that I could sneak off as easily as he did to the parties, to the danger, to the drugs. I craved to make mistakes, to get in trouble, to hurt and destroy. I longed to be hated by my mother. It seemed easier than living with the hate I harboured for myself everyday.
By Taylor K URL on 12.05.2011
As a child, I was always good at everything.
Golden, in fact.
AS I grew older I resented it because I was always the trophy child.
My mother’s favorite centerpiece.
Her little robot.
Good at everything.
I am the failure of the century.
By Alex Sharp on 12.05.2011
There is a flower centerpiece on the dining room table. It’s not real flowers. And it’s dusty.
By just582 URL on 12.05.2011
The flower centerpiece was beautiful. It was filled with roses.
By Smile your alive! on 12.05.2011
i look around the room
my gaze lingering on certain things
much longer than they
i struggle to decipher why
exactly she wanted
what she wanted me to find
and then i see it.
the centerpiece of all
except this one hides a dark, dark truth
like no other
By Iffath URL on 12.05.2011
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.