Dismount the Horse Is Dead

Dismount, the horse is dead I say. He keeps blathering on, Saying things to bring me down Tries to lasso me with negativity Annoyed that I have retained my idealism Angry at my optimism Wanting to smear my joy on the floor of the barn. I smell the hay and the manure Still I will not relent Dismount, the horse is dead, I say. The sky does not fall. Chicken Little’s voice is silenced. The blathering keeps coming. Perpetual ugliness; trying to pull me down. The rope misses my head by days. I gallop into the corral, determined to retain myself. He chases after me, attempting to wipe off my smiles. Wanting tears to come out of my eyes. I laugh until I cry, infuriating him. Dismount, I yell. The horse is dead!