A Phallic Crown

On occasion, you have forced me into a box

and in front of a firing brigade.

You’ve tried to keep me under key and lock,

as well as display me in a parade.

To view me as an object of desire,

or a jewel in your golden crown,

only forces me to light it afire

and smelt that soft metal down.

Perhaps, that soft metal is metaphorical

to lacking in all things phallic.

With the simplicity of my words, not hysterical,

I can cut through all things metallic.

I have no desire to be a part of

your over-compensating plan.

I am above all my own greatest love story.

The truth is I don’t need a man.

Please be confident in the fact that

if I choose you it’s out of genuine regard.

You don’t have to be anything less or more than

exactly who you are.

Let me break this down quite simply,

look outside your own insecure pride.

Then, you actually might win me over,

but only your actions will decide.

Words are empty and futile,

they’re tethered and can fall apart.

I’m not even interested in anything beautiful,

unless it’s the depths of your heart.

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