What is a moth if not a butterfly
who's traded in her grace and colour
for pitter-patter sighs
Inked nights
To sift shy in shadows
And forever thirst for light
Soft Laughs in Dim lit taverns
Almost winked out flames
She's the tattered mistress of stars
forgotten partaker
Of a lesser praise

Through the storm
through the fire and brimstone they made for me
I still found the strength to run the blade through my own heart
And down the poison you let me take

ruckus riot, rumble quiet
cackle kind of joy
mis-made master, quaint disaster
angel soft tom boy
locking knees, smiling teeth
begging time for change
freckled furrows, pained tomorrow’s
living for some days
speak up little blue bird haze
whiplash on your tongue
saving up your sunshine rays
to pierce or blind someone

The words of a public figure
A distraction giver
Magician
You smile in the face of cameras
But behind the mask lies an actor
Chained in cuffs of gold
Gagged with pure silk folds
The heavy weight of a thousand judges
The haters, the lovers
You run your hands over a porcelain face
Throat raw from speaking crystal words they trace
Every move is tracked
So every thing you do’s an act
You’re no longer human
Each choice you make is not of your choosing
They hate your being
But here’s the thing
So do you