Our inner bard only knows one song
One story we collect in our vocal chords
We got sidetracked the other day
talking about The Outsiders.
I had just seen the film and it moved me,
cause I know those kids.
You said, “Yeah. It’s one of
the two books I’ve actually read.
Y’know Dally? He’s my favorite.
And HE died!”
And all I could think was
Baby, you ARE Dally .
He’s boys like you, taught to
equate the fist with the size
of a man, when a dick’s all a
blow makes you
Taught to treat tears like soiled pants
something to feel ashamed of
You learned kindness exposes
your groin for the kick
Softness a foreign word you
can only decipher if the sex is bad
and I wonder how many tail tucks
it takes to turn a dog junk yard vicious
Or forget the taste of tenderness
Dally, is it too late to remind you
to watch a sunset?
You were once a Pony
so go on a treasure hunt for
the gold they stole from you
Cause thorns smothered your
kingdom while all the adults were
sleeping
And if they’d loved you at all, they
would have at least offered you
a spindle and a needle
I get it
Even Ponies can forget
the taste of a sunset
But there’s green in those
poems you spit
In that Lost Boy banner you wave
So pissed with those
confederate-shaped
rage-colored waves
carried on the wind you think
nobody notices
The mushroom cloud
The blood-stained boot
The fusion
I get it
Dally was Dally
His end
was always going to be
the same
But You
you were once a Pony
Til they broke your legs
& made you hard
But it is not to late
to go on a treasure hunt
And reclaim your sunset.