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.