I love to think that I’m the girl
With a bright blue feather on her hair
That when asked why the feather flies when she twirls
She’ll say “It’s not me, it’s just the playful air.”
But when the sun bids ‘bye the windy summer afternoon
When darkness gathers through the clouds, covering the moon
Her horns grow through her head, the bright blue feather falls,
At the end of the day I’m just, the Evil Bitch after all.
A poem written by my friend Danielle, sent to me while we were chatting about relationships on Facebook.