She was a kite of floating glee—not one had been themself more free. She’d slam those down with all her might and show those bitches quite the fright. It was her turn to do the dance and have someone rip off her pants. She knew the game—it was her own; become the dame—enter the zone. This world would bow to all she was, the single goddess from above. She’d show this tripe through all her wrath that darkest might and then she’d laugh. They’d run and hide—they’d be so scared—they knew themselves far from prepared. Her power gleaned from what she was—the only god—one made of love.
