She had a hippie happy heart,
and a giant gypsy soul.
She cared too much about too much,
and she wandered without a goal.
 
She had a lofty lover’s heart,
and was barely not breaking at the bones.
She loved too much, far too much,
but the cracks it caused were never shown.

She had a shattered spirit and a smile,
and a charlatan shine in her eyes.
She was real- too real, for this world,
and oftentimes, it was just too hard to get by.
 
She had weeping wings on her back.
And tracks of tears under her skin.
She tried. She tried. She tried, too much.
And it hurt. So she cut off her wings.
 
She’d had a future of flying in her vision,
but the tendrils in her touch tied her down.
So she gave up her hopes and her ambitions.
And she stayed- where she was stuck- on the ground.