Rock and Roll Therapy

Oh, Baby,
There’s nothing like
rock and roll in the morning.

The sun shatters
shuttered windows,
kissing me awake.

I roll out of the warmth
of the tangles of
my pink
Jungle Cave.

I fumble for the
magic switch that’ll
wreak havoc and
shred the system.

The tunes bulldoze
straight to my soul,
makes my hips shake
and
my booty sway.

Baby,
When those notes crank the air,
they’ve got the whole ground a shakin',
shivers down my spine,
smokin' loud beats,
I’ve got that rollin’ swagger.

The tunes rocket ship the walls,
I slither on the back beat,
booty shake and head-bang
My bare feet crush the
sobbing carpet.

Tousled, lions-mane hair,
baggy, red cotton tee
and
pink leopard Vicky’s panties,
my voice soars with the roar of
AC/DC serenading through
the black dotted speaker box.

For those morning moments,
I’m a self-declared
Super Nova.
I run New York. I run LA.

Baby,
When those notes crank the air,
they’ve got the whole ground
a shakin',
shivers down my spine,
smokin' loud beats,
I’ve got that rollin’ swagger.

I’m busy hips and quick fists
in denim and leather,
two tattoos and eleven piercings.
Show cased curves
and tight lines,
heeled boots and shine.
Fuck you,
I’ve got that rollin’ swagger.