colors  
slide over  
ink-slick
○°○            skin           ○°○
○°○°             °○°○°          ○°○°
○°°○°○stretched○°○°°○
°°○○°○°°○°○°°○°○○°°
a skein of
furtive fabric  
wrought of woe    
and wrested    
from futility  
°°○°○°°○°○°°
pundits posture
○°°○°○°imposing ○°°○°○°
○○°○°°○°°postulating○°°○°°○
○°°○      ○°○their ○°○     ○°°○
○°○°      importance    ○°○°
°○°○°○         ○°°sleek°°○       °○○°○°
°○°○             insolence             °○°○
curls °°○
crafted○°
  churlish
     like a
             pre
          °°         hen
     °°          sile
       °○°○tail    


SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/28/2017

Don't tell a rose how to grow,
And The birds how to chirp.
Don't tell your daughter to be soft,
Don't tell your son how to hurt.

Don't tell the sky what color to bleed,
And a person, the right way to grieve.
Don't try to tame your daughter's tongue,
Don't tell your son the manly ways to love.

Don't tell the wind which way to blow
Or the clouds how hard to rain.  
Don't teach your daughter how to soak,
Don't show your son how to easily reject.

Don't tell the sun to adjust its light
Or the truth how to show itself.
Don't tell your daughter it's feminine to shy,
Don't teach your son how to reign with fists held high.


Don't tell a heart how to beat
Or the mind how not to soar.
Don't clip off your daughter's  wings,
To make them a foundation for your son to grow.

Don't tell a rose how to grow,
Lest it decides to turn its petal into thorns.
Don't tell the birds how to chirp
And have their voices turn into rebellious growls.

You've been cutting at my heart for years
The smallest remarks or wrong wording
Just tears at the seams of my heart until
There are too many ****** holes for me to fix or fill
And all I wonder is was it an accident or did you plan to **** me all along?