A Generation Of Fuck-ups

We may be of
A different blood line
We are sister friends
Of a similar kind
And as far as
Fuck ups go
On a scale
Of one to ten
We are an odd
Yet profound eleven
…and while you
Laugh at me
We both know
I bring a smile
To your mouth
And nothing else
Truly matters
Our world
Seems to be
…a flat disc
That has been
Shot bulls eye
Into another level
An organic sphere
…at times
Dark hole
Glistening light
With a pure abundance
Of beauty
Blinded by
Our own delight
You glance away
Eye contact
…is painful
Fear they can see
Into your soul
Truth be held high
Truth be told
Glimmering images
Reflect and shine
Close your eyes
I will open mine
The thoughts
You think
…I can hear
Volumes of silence
There is a link
They hold a power
And a strength
So we will blow out the candles
Turn the music down low
We will dance…and sing
Hips swaying
From side to side
Fingers snap
In the abstract
Lost in the absence
Of logic or sound
We have no reason
To hoover or hide
We are Women
A Generation Of Fuck Ups
And we wear our title
With gallantry and pride!

© 2016TrilbyYates