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Mean bones, grow a pair...

Look at you!

so soft and brittle

a sturdy back bone lacking

nor have you a mean bone, not a little

Look at you!

Trying to sail the seas of life,

slaving to make pals with attitudes

that mimic a cyclone

With egos that swell, to rise and conquer

while the fibers of your soul get blown

look at you show up, chest bare

holding your petty good heart alone.

Oblivious to the shields they hold

too (whatever) to call them out on the lies they told,

seeing right through their brains

yet, betting on that which you haven’t yet seen

that vulnerable humanity, humble brokenness

and all that’s real and naked in between.

Time to grow some claws,

wouldn’t you say?

some thorns amid your petals ?

before your soul is too scratched to recover

'cycloning' away with proud fellas?

Hold up your imperfect self bold and proud

add a little ruthlessness to your being

let your fierceness roar loud

as softly, lovingly , in timidity you sing.

Be a little mean.

Say "no!"

Shout "oh hell no!"

Should they threaten to desert you,

tell them “chop chop, away you go!”

Covet such a life

that flows steady, balanced and nice?

Then be some parts of fire as much as ice!

Just a quarter of the that meanness

you show your own self,

that should suffice!

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