I’m not perfect and I fuck up.
Sometimes I don’t clean your mug.
I spit in your tea, and I often test
the buttered side up or down theory.
I sometimes fight back just for the peace
and I no longer prayer for the silence to cease.
I sell you my soul as an ultimate goal
and this bothers me not, for it’s simply a role.
I’m doing a job and the money is shit
a trade for a trade and little bit of tit.
The body is empty it’s just flesh and bones
and I give out, because you do nothing but moan.
Some days I play the good little wife
pretend I am capable of this caged up life.
Other days I scream from the pits of my soul
for passion and love and to simply feel whole.
I’m not perfect and I fuck up all the time
and constantly you tell me this is a crime
to put my needs first ahead of your own
but if I ask you for help you just fucking moan.
So I stopped asking.
I’m not perfect, I fucked up,
I spat on your ego and little gold cup
and constantly I tell you to fucking grow up.
So you crush me harder, you know the buttons to press.
I’m stubborn, hard headed and not out to impress.
I fucked up I was never enough
the lesson was hard and so very tough.
You tear at my spirit and I sell you my soul
the Devil watches as I grease my whore pole.
I could never bow down I could never submit
The perfect wife, I never did fit.
You say i’m cold hearted, as cold as ice
I say, you’ve never truly looked into my blue eyes.
I’m sorry I fucked up and i am not perfect
I’m sorry I can never forgive that you gave me a defect.
I’m sorry I want to reach for the stars
when you see the door as being too far.
I’m not perfect, I fuck up I do
every single time I forgive you.
I’m not perfect, at least not anymore
yet i’m not forsaken, the devil isn’t at my door.
When the day comes when I’ve rid of my shame
when I stand in your face and abandon your name
when you scream to the world, she could never be tamed
I’ll stand like the lion and his glorious mane.
Karen Hayward ©2015 (Image and words)