When it’s not rumor or speculation a blend
of lies, cult fiction, the insane
that happens to be the norm.
Or that chill that leaves you deformed
and shows how your backbone has thinned
but you are not lame.
In fact, you eat and claim
plenty, while the food is warm
as you tell a few or your best friend
You can’t wait till your name ascends
into the spotlight, pages heights, and some librarian to blame
because your book transformed
a woman into literature, from perfect to misinformed
to lost and torn, a dream of sin
only every day is exactly the same
Even if your name is mud, you’re scared or in pain
ashamed, name on a blog, but not on a news crawl, saying the storm,
hurricane, death toll, no I’m back again
“Considering It A Wind”, and it will be a win
Really, when I forget your so vain
your every loving name; for a new obsession, I just printed the forms.
Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.