I wear glittering jewels around my neck
Though all they remind me of
Is the weight of such a sour love
A love like rotten cream
That curdled long ago
Under the heat of your hate
Of my innocent wholeness.
So determined to break me
In order to convince yourself
The best cups to drink love out of
Are the ones with jagged edges
And cracks running around them
Like carefully hand-painted lines made
By God himself.
But you forget
Cracked glasses puncture this fragile human skin
And draw blood into this cup of love.
But perhaps that is the only kind of love you know
The kind that draws blood
And creates wounds
That fester while you drink slowly
So assured the wounds do you no harm
Though they turn your skin ghastly colors
And ooze sticky white pus
While you slap on layer after layer of makeup
All to hide your hideous infections.
So I sit on this throne
Wearing a tiara
Where I yearned to wear a crown.
But even this tiara is made of poisoned thorns
Though you adorned them with exorbitant and exquisite jewels
For which there is no appropriate price
Than this young life
You squeeze in your hands
Like trying to wring water
From a dirty dish towel
Though all I am stained with
Is your ugly hate.
So though they call me many things
I know I am nothing but a slave
Not a Princess
Howling to the high Heavens for deliverance
Though God watches in silence
While you beat the royal blood
Out of this Princess.