I Asked You Why.
you say she made you this way;
took off your price tags, wore you,
stuffed you in a closet that you’re afraid
to come out of. You say she is who
to blame; your wall as tall as skyscrapers
no distant, conditional love could compare,
and sometimes, you see, i’d like to be your liberator:
break every window, burn the remains, build a garden to share.
I’m not asking you to let me love you more than she did.
Free yourself. Let me help you. Know that not every flower you pick has thorns.