Cinderella in Trekking Shoes

Born with a curse,

I speak in-verse,

And here the proof does lie;

Bitter like coffee,

Dark like chocolate,

I ain’t no sugar pie.

Keep it cryptic,

Yet play it straight,

Say it, but say it all;

My stage this world,

Am the spotlight girl,

Rest is illusion all….

Ma luv is in ma curses,

As honeyed as ol’ Brit verses,

Mean a lot more than I could say;

A rhythm in the vein,

No moment mundane,

Living on the ‘edge’ e-veryday.

I like it neat,

But life’s on the rocks,

Living always on a high;

It all seems,

Just like a dream,

And I can’t wait to fly.

Not a deli-cate dame,

Nor the Lord’s ‘tall claim’,

Jus’ an angel who forgot her rules;

Am a river wild and free,

Yet a ‘deviant’ mys-teree,

Like Cinderella in trekking shoes!!

Notes : I got a little bugged with the 'moon-june' poems, you know, the 'beauty of the flowers' and 'how romantic are the stars' types. Had enough of the dark poetry too, people can't seem to die in any newer artistic ways you see. So I thought of trying something 'refreshingly' ugly. Didn't have to go farther than a mirror too. ;)