David, like David and Goliath, like the statue
was made in 1501 by Michaelangelo.
A fatherless son, born perfect to the world. Full Grown.
But in Italy, they'll tell you that Michaelangelo
never wanted to be a sculpter;
That he was an artist but that his gift was his curse.

Yet he still managed to create this marvelous marble masterpiece.
Gave the world beauty to call it beautiful and behold it for hundreds of years,
because heaven knows he never would.

But sometimes I feel like you see yourself more like Galatea.

But a rose by any other name might smell more sweet than thee,
My fair, dark lady,
Only to be loved by those of your statue.
I mean, stature.

My fair, dark lady,
who chased me from the light in spite of just wanting to help
the charity case.

My fair, dark lady,
I made you to be a hero,
But a villain you became.

How can one love the name of a rose proud enough
To ***** the finger of tender green thumbs?

Still, its handed a clean slate for the sake of soft petals.
Justified by sweet smells and vibrant colours.
Excused.

Just, if only I could forget the thorns,
I'd have spoken "Love" differently.

I wanted to love you like no other sister would,
but couldn't.

I wanted a savior to stay even when things are okay,
wouldn't you?
When the giants weren't around.

Well, who's hero are you now?

Tell me how a statue saves lives,
rather than turning to stone when the sun rises
And I will eagerly believe.

Or don't.

Strike your pose.

Bask in the spotlight.

It's what you wanted.
It's what you got.

Hear them say "Galatea."
Not marble but ivory,
"Eliza."
"Aphrodite."

And believe them.
"Perfection created."

But I'll call you David;
Never abandoned,
forever alone.

Because humans don't need solution or heroes to depend on.
We need friends.

Well, congratulations, beautiful.

Everyone loves you.

Except, the people who should.

of course i ******* every night,
otherwise i'd be wondering
about the next Laika in space
with some next soviet conspiracy
Sputnik hovering while i chance
abbreviate a change on hairstyling
thinking: jeez, this is a little bit too
afro frizzy for a brainstorm,
maybe i better opt for Jamaican dreads?
economics of shampoo usage,
suddenly a large bank account.
i do get the idea behind treating nouns
like albinos... bleach the *******
hang them to dry in Polaroids...
while commercial flights fly at a certain
height, and the rich buggers fly high enough
to jet-stream in the cirrus uncinus bracket...
and they lie to children,
they're talking about strange satellites...
i can't see satellites, not without Galileo's
excommunication apparatus,
satellites, as far as i am concerned
orbit the earth in a non-visible spectrum
of the vacuum... hence their orbiting outside
of the visible spectrum atmosphere of
the earth, i would not be able to see
a satellite for the love of Michaelangelo.