Down For The Count.

Count me in, take me out, I'll go anywhere.  Drive faster, brake less, signals me slower.  Do what you like, include me, leave me be.  She doesn't know what she wants, she just knows she wants something.  Everybody's telling her what to do, who to be.  They're questioning her sensibility, how could she possibly know what's best for herself?  All she really wants to ask is where's the fun in knowing what's best?  Glasses breaking, chandeliers, perfect poses for the picture.  Everyone looks so nice, but where's the risk in being safe?  Push the envelope, test the limits, all the other overused phrases you can think of that prove you cannot be put into a box.  Where's the fun in labeling what you see?  Tippy toes, turn around, catch a smile from a stranger.  She's never been able to dance but that doesn't stop her from trying.  A will you can't stop, a love you can't fathom, a well of empathy you can't imagine, with a touch of sociopathy.  Where's the fun in fitting a stereotype?