Grade

Why do you grade me on a scale

No matter where I come from you take the words I speak

I rant about perfection

because who is to say

I want to breathe the air from the ice

but look again 

it is too cold for me

just like that touch you left on me

the bruise you left is begining to show

there is a purple dot

some blue poking up

I swing in that right hand

only to have you rip it off

I wish you knew

but you don't

the reason I cannot explain

you love him

I love him

he loves you

it has been that way since centuries.

relax.

I never get anything but air.

-art