She carved her crown from a lion’s teeth
her hope was misplaced like Wendy in Neverland
Her rugged jeans never made it past her ankle
yet she shoots yellow roses out of a golden pistol
out of her muse, existed two pygmy monkeys
dangling from her ear lobes like fallen stars
not the only one she had, but the weirdest of all
She’d never get weary of those dangling pygmies
her laugh would caress the eardrum of listeners
it’d nourish the heart of believers in life
every breath she took drove her further into nolstagia
her name was like the snow, acquiesce and beautiful
she and her band of misfits
loitered the streets in search of quaint resort
like a dysfunctional family, a thorn on society’s heel
Stifling out insecurities, draped in magical colours
a pencil to her hand was like a samurai with a katana
every particle turned in one note and vibrated in synchrony
I know she’ll paint the dimension of her soul one day
for now she’s resorted to drawing a mirage of dreams
She said she couldn’t stand people,
their colour ran so bland and grey
I know she loves the flower hidden within
the little neon sign that reads, I’m a misfit too.
A poem for my beautiful misfit.