Kick'n Up Dust

Leslie rides with thunder in her eyes,
A storm in boots under open skies.
She’s grace and grit in one sharp line—
A cowgirl carved from fire and spine.

Taylor’s laugh is a runaway song,
She’s here, then gone, never here too long.
She’ll tip her hat and steal your breath,
Then vanish south with the wind as her headrest.

Kathryn stands like she owns the land,
With dust in her smile and .45 in her hand.
She’s calm like dusk, but don’t mistake—
That calm can quake the toughest heart to break.

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And Anna? She’s poetry dressed in leather,
Sun-kissed cheekbones, wild with weather.
She doesn’t chase dreams, she makes them kneel—
She’s every word a cowboy feels.

They ride together, strong and proud,
Boots hitting dirt like thunder loud.
Four hearts wild, four spirits high,
Too free to tether, too fierce to tie.

Boys may follow, hoping to impress,
But cowgirls don't settle for anything less.
Their paths are carved by dusty ground,
Not by expectations that tie them down.

They carry stories in silent ways,
In crooked smiles and sunburnt days.
They’ll break your heart, not out of spite—
Just doing what cowgirls do right.

They don’t want saving, they want the range,
They crave the sky and the open change.
And if you try to hold them close—
You’ll find out quick they love the most… when free.

So tip your hat and wish ‘em well,
But don’t expect a fairytale.
This ain’t the West of painted myths—
This is where legends ride and shift.

Leslie, Taylor, Kathryn, and Anna—gone,
Boots on the ground, then into the dawn.
You don’t chase cowgirls—you let them ride,
And maybe, just maybe, you ride alongside.