She wasn't dainty,
like a bird.
Possibly hollowed,
and absurd.

Twas no man out there
quite aligned with her.
No muscle-bound
white knight scouring
the Great Divide
searching for her soul.

No, no, nooo.

Surely not one as
spirited as she.

Drumming up uncertainty
in sure-footed fashion.
Loosening up the buckles,
to be wounded when they fasten.
Cooing at the moon
as though it mattered.
Grooming thick-boned feathers,
distant remnants in a bloodline
of Celtic madhatters.


To think so,
she would be remiss.
Mistaken, and a fool.

She wasn't dainty
like a bird.
Possibly hollowed,
and absurd.
Holding on to hope
that her creative soul
had a match,
in the wide blue yonder.

Twas an idea to ponder
while she folded lonely socks
and tucked her kids to bed.
An idea to set on spin cycle
in her not-so-dainty head.

I will not credit the cards
stacked against me.

​No.

How could I allow those haters
​to creep inside,
when there are other cards
gently placed far and wide
for all of us to cling to?

So go ahead and stack 'em up.
I'll just pick 'em up,
and pass 'em back to the moles
whilst I don my shit kickers.

Those do-gooders shouting God's words
from their holier-than-thou
dirty rat pulpits.
​We'll have none of it.

They can scrub their lives
in directions that feed them best.
​We'll journey the endless miles
enjoy the giggles, and wiggles,
and we'll smile in our vagrant dress.

We'll bask in colors unattained.
shine in spectral rays, unglazed,
​un-phased by their vanity.

You and me.

Us.

We'll drop the Mic when our songs are sung,
​and not a moment before.

Then we'll tread upon their cards
splayed and scattered
​like little lost souls of spiteful haters,
​flung about the floor.