Credit cards and little black dresses.

Is it possible to forget to live the life
You wanted to live
To be a messy soul, wrapped in feathers
Cloud staring and dreaming of drifting away
And not notice
That you are sterilised and stainless steel cold

Fingers caressing the worn bindings of
Market bought books, filled with scribbled
Scrawled, scratched personality
A girl with dirty nails and special stones
A hapless writer that just wanted to
Be wild.

The same fingers that now
Tip tap on computer keys, grip
The cooking pan of mediocrity
Holding plane tickets and fingering money
Never really crying, not actually trying
To fly anymore.

Wanting to sit, nice clothes and all,
In a earthy brown puddle and make mud pies
Let it all dribble down my arms
Cake my hair, stain me irreversibly
Seep and soak and renew the soul that
Is bored in its protective world.

Drag all that security into the sunshine
And watch it melt
-credit cards, little black dresses, all the excesses-
Find some grass and make a dandelion crown
Become a princess of something a little more
Worthwhile.

Dancing and singing and crying
And not spending a single cent.