In an upside-down garden
it sounds so general when I say it
as though you could be any of those faces
passing me by on the streets.
You are not, you are you.
You are stained with blueberry kisses
and the memories of rain-dancing.
Your hair is dyed with the color of my tears,
your skin scarred with the touch of my hands.
I call out because you are general
you are not as important as I make you to be
you are not coveted.
You are you, you are simple.
You are as bad as me sometimes
as scared as she, as mad as me
when the world pulls my skin too tight
it stretches yours too.
with the angel wings,
the smile that shines, the heart of gold,
you are not me, common.
You are more than me
climbed up higher than I could reach
you sit on your throne, how could I ever think
you would stoop to my level?