Small Town

 
I do not think they would sing to me
Those angels who draw the lines of my life
I have forced myself to have realistic dreams
I have turned away from my own destiny
They shake their heads sadly
 
“We don’t need anymore realistic dreamers”
 
She used to be so different
 

My mind struggles with my soul
Security . . . 
do what is safe, 
follow the crowd
 
close your awkward mouth and close your eyes
You are a country girl who can’t get a date
not a revolutionary!
 
What can you do?  Nothing.  Sit down!
Be silent, be timid, be apathetic, be feminine.
Don’t try to sing with angels
Don’t waste any useful breath
Work, don’t dream, this is real life!
 
Take the well-beaten path, don’t trip or get dirty
You’ve just a girl with a big mouth
You’re nothing, no flower growing in this dirt
You are the dirt, and dirt doesn’t dream.
 
Dreams are for poets and children and fairies
This is the real world!
Learn a craft!  Be a lawyer!  Work until you bleed!
And love . . . it’s pixie dust.

Settle for clean hair, primal lust.
fall into your small life, drown in tears
sleep in peace, live in pain and sadness
 
do not dream – it’s easier that way
 
forget the angels.
They have not forgotten you.