I met a teenage existentialist

I met a teenage existentialist as I was walking down the street,

We stopped and talked and then we walked,

She talked some more of philosophical law and how we're supposed to think.

I liked the cut of her conversation,

As she extolled of the art of exploitation in ever such a subtle way,

She made my head and heart spin and sway,

This way and that,

And yet for all that,

I felt very grounded anyway.

Her melody of words and how they played,

Vibrates inside of me like dancing chords,

Words and intellect as sharp as swords,

Cutting through the crap,

Of all that is said about all of that,

It seems it's not an intellectual cul-de-sac,

Unless you forget to participate in that,

And not just the conversation,

Such enlightened elation,

Listening to her it's all so vibrantly alive, excitation.

It doesn't vex me,

She makes me think, she makes me pause,

She a femme feline with sharpened claws,

The girl goes beyond opening the doors,

Of perception and deception,

With their elementary flaws,

And those ridiculous philosophical laws,

Handed down over centuries by the rulers and their priests

Their words you see are spoken,

In all the downtrodden streets.

Stidwolf November 2020