There’s something undeniable deep in my soul:
Gypsy blood runs through my veins—of that I am sure.
I ramble, I wander, I travel to extremes and will forever aimlessly adventure.
I do not seek treasure, though I search for clues and answers, unscrambling riddles and the minds of those tumbling on my path.
I cannot be pinned or placed, nor will I expire on a shelf.
My imagination is my ally with whom I quiz and squabble and look at with awe, but always set free.
I am easy to love, although insanely impossible to understand.
I love easily and without question till my heart bleeds and feels the wrath of the darkest night.
My soul feels no fear however scared I may be.
I am wise though I am foolish and my inner child always leads the way.
My intuition is alert and is my greatest tool when others use trickery to deceive.
I am chaotic and cluttered, my head filled with a thousand thoughts, but I carry no baggage and do not absorb the mess.
I am passionate and addictive and whether adored or despised, I am difficult to forget.
I dig for truth and uncover and unravel and collapse on endless ropes of lies.
I am wild, my hair loose, I ride fast and am furious when beaten.
I am an art piece only appreciated by those who resonate and recognise and flicker with embers from the same flame.
My feet are bare, my heart thrashes, my hands are held out and my eyes are full of magic that needs to be shared.
I am fascinated and bewildered and allow the wind to spin me and distort and caution me until I fall.
I get back up, I won’t be forsaken—I refuse, despite dirty tears and scuffed knees and nails broken in my fight to compose.
I am like treasure from the deepest sea, I possess so much yet I’m hidden within a rusty trunk, gathering time and gathering value.
I have no care as I do not wish to disturb, nor to be disturbed.
I have all that I need within and without and do not need to be labelled and discussed and placed upon a rustic table for all to view.
My gypsy soul does not need to be captured, my gypsy heart does not wish to be loved.
And, so, if you ever pass me by, I ask of you, share with me your cares. Tell me of your days and let us whisper and unleash our fantasies.
I have time to rest and I will never tire, so sit with me, lie down beneath this tree and tell me where your story began.
I Will Never be a Well Behaved Woman.
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Author: Alex Myles
Editor: Travis May
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