Fool’s Pride and Glory

She wore that dunce hat proudly
Like a medieval maiden’s crowning glory
Her own personal henin
Homemade royalty not coronated by Pinterest or Etsy
But regal all the same
Immune to society’s judgement
A Mona Lisa-esque expression
Of mystery
Clad in gentle, lying lace
And blinded by ambition

Arms folded defensively
And mind awhirr with words of caution
Lived words of wisdom echoing
With expletives so profane
That she has learned from the mistakes of others
She solemnly taps out a rhythm
Preparing for another spin around the floor
To her own drummer
Merrily alone
Humming to herself

Meanwhile men whither
Before her ice-cold glare
The resting-bitch-face
In which she takes such great pride
Serving her well once again
Her angry-woman-death-vibes oozing
Into the invisible pores of the universe
Crowding out all the cells and atoms

Fool’s Pride and Glory

For even with her eyes blindfolded
She still sees all

Utterly solemn
She plots and she schemes
Trying to make
Sense of simple happenstance
And good on promises longstanding
Not bound by mere circumstance
Or societal norms
Eager to escape
And so very determined
Because she is nobody’s fool