And when I heard the theme song for Party of Five, I remembered us dancing.
Two young women in a parking lot, and we believed we were unstoppable.
We caught the moon and stars and clutched them in our closed fists.
Nothing made better brass knuckles than our favorite constellations.
Two young women in a parking lot, and we believed we were unstoppable.
We forgot to look down at our feet when strangers got too close.
Nothing made better brass knuckles than our favorite constellations.
We showed them stars in sharp no’s dressed in bright red lipstick and steel toe boots.
We forgot to look down at our feet when strangers got too close.
Instead, we drew chalk outlines around their failed pick up lines and raunchy insults.
We showed them stars in sharp no’s dressed in bright red lipstick and steel toe boots.
They scattered into the clogged gutters and promised they would return with razor teeth.
Instead, we drew chalk outlines around their failed pick up lines and raunchy insults.
Two young women raised with stories about wolves and witches, and we knew curses.
They scattered into the clogged gutters and promised they would return with razor teeth.
We learned witchcraft in our names and whispered them over and over building strength.
Two young women raised with stories about wolves and witches, and we knew curses.
We caught the moon and stars and clutched them in our closed fists.
We learned witchcraft in our names and whispered them over and over building strength.
And when I heard the theme song for Party of Five, I remembered us dancing.
Poetic Trials 