You remind me of Stevie Nicks in her prime,
pinning medals to yourself for surviving love
and turning all sadness into effortless ***.

The lead guitar plays through your headphones
as you walk through another dreary street,
another dreary day where he will barely look at you.

Rain falls and autumn arrives as if it has always
been there, as if the seasons have finally caught up
with the mood that has been clinging to you

all year. You wonder from your place on the bus,
where your life is leading, if indeed, you want it
to lead anywhere at all. Every indication is given

by some well-wishing hand, each one hoping to
tend to you, pigeon-hole you into a life that they
had always hoped to live in, beyond hypocrisy

and lack of education. I know you gave up on
newspapers long ago. I am glad. You are worth
the peace of a morning. Someone like you

should never be dragged into war.