The sky seemed suddenly seized by darkness
Her mood had summoned the storm
Nature in solidarity with
the rebel princess, always
Not a royal, per se
But she has a strong will
Or so she asserts herself,
Hope, in her land of purple despair
You’d know if you meet her
even in a New York minute
Shocking but soft pink hair
drumming in your ears for attention
She smells of cocoa butter lotion
and distress, a constant tablet of
sweet bubblegum to avoid vomiting sarcasm
and also bitterness of reality away
her appearance only makes
the modest of them say- Nossa Senhora!
But it isn’t her fault
to look like an outsider
So haven’t you met her yet?
That girl needs you, stick around
Mightn’t stand-out by dying her hair ‘troubled’
but the weather will tell you