you** are the sovereign tide
i- the feeble yacht you consume
i contort and conform to abide
by the rules from which you are excused

i am the pathetic attempt
the sun makes to escape from the clouds
whilst you are its radiant rays
that no darkness could ever beat down

i am the dust of the earth
and you are the Northern Lights
whilst I dwell on my lack of worth
you climb to unprecedented heights

You do not define my colors,
or how I see my
eyes in the mirror.
You don't pull the corset
laces to fit me into your
ideal waist size;
you don't take my brush and
smudge out my
imperfections.
I'll paint the sky and show
you who I really am.
I'll dip the brush onto my
tongue, write the words in the
clouds that I've wanted to
say since I could
formulate screams on my
baby lips.
I am not the sun,
but you are not the moon;
how can you hail
higher than I when you
are still standing on the
ground?
Can those who are
mighty sprout crowns from their
heads like a baby
bird grows the
feathers on its wings?
Do jewels fall from your
mouth like your voice is
worth more than
Mitus's gold?
Do the branches of the
trees fall to their
arches as you
pass them by?
If you are so, then
please,
take my hand and
paint me red with
all the
things you are that I'll
never be.