good uppity

I'm uppity 
in the sense I hop, 
bop, jump myself 
up a bit, where I 
stand
just
to get 
an enthused,
elevated glimpse
of view that goes
slightly over 
my head. 

But I come back 
downity! Leaps 
and bounds of 
minor ascent 
return to ground. 
To basis, where 
surely stanced, I wheel 
to dance enraptured 
by what I hippety 
hoppity 

uppity 

find,
and found. 

Bad uppity, or poor 
uppity, or false uppity 
is - far as I can tell, 
a deal where you jump 
yourself up, stick in the 
air and glare. I've seen 
it! It's for real, and - you 
know what?

Where the overreach
leap-up uppity one is
just,
punching up 
to smack sight
into others' eyes,
dimmed and blinkered 
by their own false held

height,
from which vantage 
they see fit to throw weight 
around they never had, let 
alone weighed -

I call that good uppity, too. 
For just. For fair. For real. 
Right-on!

Just so. 

Just do.
But still, it's 
a bit more urgent
and grave than what

I most like 
to get up 

to. 

In a crisis pinch, sure!
Where foul looms true,
and false rears high - I
don't bounce or hop much.

I charge 

with level lance
at whatever level I can
run right through to the guard,
crooked fast in elbow nook,
held light but hard. 

Meanwhile, my freaking horse
is way back beautiful behind!
Capering in greener fields!

Some high-horsemanship trick
that is, but it's no trick I swear.

I am 
I assure you and them, 
no horse whisperer. I mostly
stroke, sneak apples and yell
"HIGH HO GOLD!"

Seems to work. Horses 

can tell what I mean. And
what's important:

that I mean
it. 

It's why I suspect
I'm so irrepressible, 

responsive, unruly, hot 
diggity underdog, responsible,
impudent, and why my level
charge hath charms it seems:
to burn, break and bind,
as others deem, please
and by their leave,
damn. 

It's...

because...

horses get me.

I do not get them.

A proper relation! By horse sense,
and mine, too if I'm honest. More
buck sense, maybe. Deer as may be!
D'oh. But it might be mighty,  if
I could figure these antlers out.

See, 

it all began the day
I took that damn internet quiz: What
Spirit Animal Are You? I went in
clean and unaimed, refusing to rig
the game or calculate for effect, target, but
- I was sure loader for bear! 

I thought. 

I'd have taken wolf. Not gladly, but
I've an angle on seeming wolf. I'd be like
"It's a big bad sheep trick, dresses like that!"
Play it off that way. Eagle? Hell, I should be

so high on death dive pinpoint adrenaline
thunderbolt bunny-strike. Or maybe 

I should not. Whatever, on or rather 
off principle, I aimed no end 
and just went through the thing 
ticking the right box. Result? 

I got deer. 

Deer. 

Well, my animal spirit seems 
to have bloomed aright, in the 
light and grain of my human nature 
and whack-ass twist of artifice, 
also natural by the way. To me. 

To us. 

In this. 

Grow up or get up. 

Sometimes just let up!

A fix you can't see 
how to fix is fixed, 
and reality is the best 
recognition we get, 
though - 

It is true. 

I don't insist.