I see your skin and I think
What did I do to deserve this blessing?
The God that I call chance
Would see my hands on a masterwork?
The American work week
covers your flame. You leave it at the door.
You wait to speak until you get close
You get close as it gets to say this:
I'm battered and bruised, think
you could relax me a little bit?
Want to take off your shirt?
I can't take my clothes off fast enough
Tell me, "Shut the blinds, first."
Can we open the blinds?
I don't care who's watching
-- if you don't.
Let light in.
Let light in.
Who cares who's watching love?
To the men who tell me I’m prettier when I smile,
the ones who feel uneasy if I frown for a while.
To the men who make me question myself,
the ones who make me put my worth on the shelf.
To the men who finish, then stare at the ceiling,
too scared to ask me how I am feeling.
To the men who make me burn out like a candle,
who tells me that my love is too much to handle.
To the men who take and never return,
this is my last hope that you’ll ever learn.
You seem to think my heart is invincible,
either that or that my body is somewhat dispensable.
You turn off your feelings, afraid to seem weak,
run away when you see the affection I seek.
I played along, thinking “sure this is normal”,
but I’ve been enlightened and my complaint it is formal.
So listen up men, because I have a voice,
what used to be an orifice, is now making noise.
You made me a fool, left me with no clue,
but I’ve come to see the only fool here is you.
You’re missing out, and I finally see,
God told me “bless up”, then pulled you from me.
Actions over words, I know, what a shocker,
I’ve dug out my self-respect from the back of my locker.
So here it goes, a few words of the wise;
the “girl you were fucking” now has a surprise.
Listen up “men”, because you have a choice,
until the right one is made, the correct term is “boys”.