Beauthy is a Tyranny 5/5 (2)

Do you badger a butterfly
on the hues of it’s wings
Cat-call a peacock
for it’s sapphire feathers

Why am I bullied
on the curls of my hair
Whistled at
for my sparkling eyes

I am a firefly
in a jar of moths waiting
to extinguish my lights and
be set free of my lavish bonds

I beg for the day
when my hair will gray
my teeth yellow
when my old bones
will groan for rest

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