You look at me & see my open disdain for convention.
You call me dangerous.
You whisper behind my back and discuss my misdeed with great mention.
What you don’t realize, is that he is more dangerous.
Mothers bustle their sons away from me in fear.
Sons look in adoration and yet when less curious, sneer.
Fathers warn of my prowess and yet find themselves caught in the glory of my conquest.
Daughters guard their men in worry, as if in one bite all of him I’ll digest.
The looks of wonder don’t go amiss.
The smell of fear, I couldn’t not notice.
The hatred of ignorance, is not bliss.
Then envy of lack of convention and my beautiful fortress.
He has the look of innocence.
Everyone has taken note of it.
He bears the face of an angel.
How could he be the heir to the throne of the opposite?
Are we all stuck on convention
created to give us an idea of good dimension
that we are too afraid to be ourselves
and accept that the good can look bad and the bad are often good?
My words like life lack a steady rhythm.
And yet to the pen’s mind goes all the criticism.
The words go unnoticed.
Until one goes back and realizes she wrote it.
He guides the hands of the talented.
He creates beyond our wildest imagination.
Who would have thought she was the key?
A pawn to he who is responsible for all creation.
It is with her energy he summons the talent of the unwanted.
His smile, his look, unbeguiling.
He conquers the world all the while smiling.
Her walk hypnotic.
Her voice melodic.
And yet, he is more dangerous.