Still with the ponies

Counting my breaths like counting sheep
But I don’t find sleep
I find you instead
still in my head
I’m still just the crazy woman who talks about ponies
you’re missing the point, I am calling all phonies
In my mind you are all just one and the same
with a singular name
just playing a game
And my mantra became:
I am too old for this
I’m too old for this
I am changing it back to the first
remind myself of the original verse
You’re all smiles and lies
just circling flies
showed me the very worst way to get wise
But I’m bringing it back to the ponies
calling all phonies
Letting go of being too tired for this
I’m so tired of this
Like your poison kiss
I’m in touch with it
taking out my shovel
and clearing out bullshit
It’s not about you anymore
not about how I’m sore
how I’m constantly looking for more
I’m content with peace
with honest belief
lining my heart with the warmest fleece
I’ll always bring it back to the ponies
it’s a good strategy for calling out phonies
people with ulterior motives and plans
it’s been happening now for several lifespans
Where did all of the sincerity go?
How do I close that proverbial window?
The same way I close my eyes and I suddenly know:
This is why I always bring it back to the ponies
they separate the beauty from the utter phonies
Everything in my life now is good and true
I’ve let go of everything save the memory of you
I learned my lessons in the hardest ways
and now I lean back and watch the willow as it sways
branches that nearly sweep the ground
look at all of the shining light we’ve found
small little steps that became giant leaps
I am no longer counting sheep
I’m just breathing in and exhaling doubt
clearing everything extraneous out
Remember when you asked “what’s the deal with the ponies?”
I didn’t know then that you walked with the phonies
My mantra can’t be “I’m too old for this”
with a boo and a hiss
it’s a bitter bliss
Instead I’m going to keep staring at the stars and the moon
keep watching all of my friends like flowers bloom
try to have a moment of peace by high noon
And you can think I’m crazy
but that’s just lazy
the truth is that my surface has not been scratched
and only a tiny fraction of my thoughts have hatched
and every time you wince when you hear the word “pony”
just remember it’s because you’re a big old phony.
I am just lying here counting my breaths like sheep
and by the end of it I will find more than sleep
I’ll find the beginnings of a beautiful peace
find comfort in the most simple belief
that if I try to put love up on the shelf
I will miss out on the good in everything else
So keep counting sheep
till they fade into sleep
and wake up in a life
that was once but a dream.

leah ruthe

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