She, in his eyes, is no art
She, in her eyes, is the water in the cup
She wont be your mother
She wont make you a father
She'll give you milk to fill your cart
She wont help you when it falls apart

Femininty is what drives me
Compulsions are what guide me
The mirror gives me glares graciously
The scale weighs me generously

One day my hair won't fall to my thigh
The strain in my throat won't ever dry
My skin will pale and stretch and mold
My eyes will stain glass till I turn into something bold