but I'm stroking your eyes and you're still crying.
I'm not poking your wounds, I did not inflict them on you
so do not whip my back.
your tongue makes me cry -
it makes me weep and breaks my limbs.
I'm trying to paint my silver to gold,
stop distinguishing bronze.
stop
stop
stop
just stop being a phoney royale
take off those shoddy jewels
and stop painting with mud.
you're as human as I.
stop slaughtering me.
________________
Bethany Louise Rose
2014/15
