Sun-dried it was, with freckles and pimples each individual size and cause Mixed with strange colors from the blue UV A canvas for sweat, where I’d sleep, drink and eat The surface I treat like a marble dream I walked upon without slipping Like those shoulders I gripped when you made me feel little And I begged you for more
Was I cinnamon to you, not perfect all the time like her The vanilla that she is, pure and classic She is the real porcelain inside and out while I am ceramic My cracks don’t show at all, then all at once But the scariest part is that I haven’t fallen yet, I live on And you’re on the other ******* side