But the Lock is Broken

 My skin is bruised

 Like cherry-blossom petals;
And I've been taught to fear
To enjoy living in my cage
To rhyme in my words
Or it won't be art on the page.

But I won't rhyme if I have to
I won't live in my cage,
Swallow the keys, I'll claw my way
free.
I've been taught to bottle up,
If it's negative, to lock it up.
But the lock is broken, picked
open by my nails.
I'm only pretty if I look a certain way,
And I'll be ugly when I'm old,
If I'll grow old. Oh, heartbreak,
Won't you steal me before it's
my time to go?
Before I taste freedom and
fly away.
If I fly, I'll be gone before you wake.