Those Paintbrush Women
I think I’m addicted to acting the way,
Behaving the way,
No, I never meant to-
No, I never intended to-
didn’t set out to break your heart
I think that it came naturally to me...
Snapping those heart strings it’s what
It’s what I’ve always done best.
Affection is a weapon they say,
Charm is a murderer they say,
The blood you lose during womanhood?
It foreshadows the blood men lose when you kill them.
never thought that-
Nobody ever thinks they’re a killer.
Turns out I always was.
We women are.
Don’t men always refer to our rouge?
Yes, the blood God painted on our mouths, our cheeks...
Took you down day 1 with my paintbrushes,
(They brushed your lips, stained your skin)
Left you for dead day 50 when I inked another man,
(A desolate canvas)
Unarmed by the blood of another,
Stood with my fingers like knives,
Their nails like arrow heads
Don’t know how to touch you without hurting you
Because I can sense those scars are still there
I look at you when I can,
When your face is turned away,
I fear I have the same stare as Medusa
I was taught that my legs were built for my escape,
My fast run,
My threatened exits,
They were wrong.
Seem to only use my legs to part them
Seem to only use my legs to trample your heart
I wish they were only ever taught to walk,
The way boys’ legs are taught to.