Witch

We never get the chance to prove ourselves exist.

Even when they see us, we know they can’t resist.

We sit in the eye of twisters, while they’re just yelling ‘Ditch! Ditch! Run there faster!’

And until they get to know us, then it’s ‘Witch! Witch! Hang her, lash her!’

Their weak hearts act as fuel to my laughter.

I can walk worlds beyond the here and the after.

To the magick, by blood, we’re sworn.

Nothing is made where greatness is born.

I’m not in the west, but I’d love to be the wicked witch.

I was never wealthy, but I’d love to be that filthy rich.

They don’t know us, but they never try to get to.

Reality crushes down, then like a high, it hits you.

Within one’s self is real, the outside is what’s fake.

They accused us of witchcraft, then we burned at the stake.

You can’t close the curtains yet, there’s much left unseen.

I come apart at the seams.

All that’s apparent isn’t always what it seems.

No one really knows what occurs behind the scenes.

Why couldn’t they give us a chance, since they’re all so abundant?

Superfluous and redundant.

They’re all too hurrisome.

They see one witch, and then they all become so worrisome.

If they’d give us the time of day, then we’ll just take the nights, as well.

Inside we’re cold as ice, but yearn for those who’re hot as well!

We dim into the darkest corners.

Gone but there’s no need for coroners.

I have a house, but I still feel like a foreigner.

‘She’s a witch! She’s a witch! Someone should be stoning her!

When they shoot you out the sky, at least you still have feathers.

They may be the rain, but we control the weather.

I’d move a mountain for all of whom I care for.

I try to make the best of life, still don’t know why I’m there for.