Poetry

Fancy Unicorn Socks

My aunt is special because she don’t care

No one can tell her what color to wear or if the pink bow is too big for kid’s hair

Glitter we know is a bomb much like sand, once you partake there is no place to hide

(I guess that is why it is so often banned)

If she must wake to a land that must shine, why would she lie and claim curve to her

spine?

(Or say she’s not obsessed?)

We’re all caught up in our need to consider the likely demise of what we possess

While my clever aunt will be sitting with family

Surrounded by cheese that all romcoms are made of,

with dashes of warmth, and a pinch of vanilla,

a nickname that highlights she’s no need to fret

A daughter, two sons, and a lover do frame, even a puppy, yes her needs are met

 

 

 

So when she did give me a gift it was her

hakuna matata in form of two socks

First it was unicorns living in rainbows

Then came an upgrade that made me feel fancy

(it helped that the words were inscribed on my feet)

 

 

 

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