by Bridie Wilkinson


Count your lucky stars
put them in your pocket
never let them fade away

beginners luck happens once
and sometimes she’s not a lady

so it turns rotten
starry points rip at pocket seams
and clear eyes and full hearts lose

It’s a tough break
the devil’s own
leaving you out of hand

But, draw again.
Strike whilst hot
find the people
who lucked out with you

have sense
to know acceptance
is a certain form of protest

We can shake hands
with our fingers crossed
behind our backs

and if we can count the stars,
we can ask for the moon again.
Glimmering with the dust
that still lines our pockets

for there are more seasons to come
and we have work to do.

Bridie Wilkinson | @bridifer | Russian Novel

Co-founder of Dear Damsels, unable to process events without writing a poem.

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