Supernova

A woman knows goodness

Yet she never turns right.

His eyes brown, bland

But a future ever-bright.

Society shouts, "Take his hand,

Hold him, dear."

Though he brings no solice,

Only breath stealing fear.

To love who is right

Is not to bring mental clarity.

That tale is for distressed damsels

Seeking easy prosperity.

Though a woman shall never

Reign as "King"

Why should she be forced

To settle for the "perfection" in things.

She is perfection

In woman form.

Call it feminism,

Or an ovarian storm.

Let her reach for supernovas,

beyond the glistening stars.

She'll never love the optimist.

Give her a tortured soul and salty scars.