I was made to marry a hipster,

but in stead I fell in love

I was made to be an artist, and fly

instead I am in love and high

on the clouds of impossible attraction.

Could it be I am all that I am?

Could it be this is the only me there will ever be?

Could it be the hipster will forever live inside of me?

His lips are soft they are my drug,

My accidental rage of sanity through blinding darkness

and by the sea.

My life is what I make it to be

Through My eyes I will always choose to see

The Hipster I was made to marry.

In a hip town with flowers and art and writers,

Making money for their craft but being completely unnoticed.

A little hip town in the far west where I would wear lace

and tie a ribbon in my hair.

His skin is bronze like the embers of the first light.

His touch like burning fire.

I was made to marry a hipster, but you are what you will be.

Forever in my dreams always the real me inside.

She is full of intellectual knowledge and insight

into the world and into the energy of light.

She Is Me...inside.

And she has Married The Man she loves.