I hate this.
This constant wandering, like jumping over sides
but the only steps I'm moving are the feet in my mind
Asking, "Am I happy?", "Is this what, WHO, I want to BE?"
Then I remember, at least I'm always going to be me..
Who you're with, does that defy you?
Does your individualism go away?
Sacrifices are necessary,
but will they remember me or my name?
I'm artistic, poetic, I crave ink on paper and metaphoric songs in the sun
I am not some princess, or that "country girl" who can always use a gun
I may laugh and follow you through this life, us..as a team,
but darling, my rifle is my paintbrush..my canvas, my trophy.