You say you love me,
But do you love the way my skin dimples in the light
Of my bathroom, you know, the one with the hair crusted sink
That my mom finds the strength to clean once a year
Cause you were raised on silver spoons and shiny silver plates,
Who the hell on this Earth needs a silver plate?
It seems you have become a prisoner in your own home
And I hope you'll look past my mother's maiden name
So that we can become the kids you know we are
Skipping stones into puddles, catching mud in our jeans
As I bleed on the concrete and you bleed into me