God will give you strength but he gave you up 
when you stopped being their willing pawn.
Your mother said she’s worried but she doesn’t know, 
The poisoned apple was her love and the name she gave you.

Now your soul is bluer than your eyes 
And your hair is longer than hers.
Doesn’t make you less of her son.
Rather be used by others,
than someone’s useful daughter.

Ink on your skin and blood on your teeth,
You tear up the flesh of the person they raised you to be.
“Make them proud” – “Make them bleed”
Don’t feel sorry for your deeds.

Money doesn’t buy happiness but it bought you time 
Away from a burning house and stormy nights.
And if the knife in your back is made of gold 
Will the iron in her voice call you home ? 

Dragging your platform shoes along the pavement, 
with a lower voice and an open wound,
Tail between your legs, needles in your feet.
Don’t walk back to that place, don’t accept defeat. 

Will the metal in your ears and your lips scare the shadows away ? 
Will all of your pain fade into smoke,
While your lungs fill with the stench of her syrupy words ? 

“Look at what you’ve done” – “look at what you are”
Be your own weapon in this goddamn war.
Faith in no deity but in yourself.
While they tear you down, burn their flesh.

God will give you strength, but you call your own name. 
Whisper in the dark the things you were.
Scream loud and clear to the fading stars 
The words on your skin, the fucking scars.

Send them away like they were gonna make you.
Exile yourself to freedom and youth.
And if your wings grow better away from the nest,
Maybe she will  lay all of this to rest. 

Put down the sword, take up the pen,
Bleed on paper like a sacrificial lamb.
You’re not their victory but you’re not their loss. 
They didn’t know you and you didn’t make them an oath. 

Pour oil on your forehead, bless your lost soul.
Let the cracks in your skin grow soft, be gentle.
And if the rivers they tried to drown you in go dry and stale,
Maybe it was time for you, maybe it was fate.

When they find your bones years from now,
They won’t know better, they won’t know how.
Because the carvings in your back made you look older

And the way your arms were wrapped around yourself,
Like a weak embrace, like a cage but warmer, 
Made them think you were – not a poet – but a soldier.

But when the dirt filled your lungs, the candles burned 
For a brighter day away from this hurt
The forget-me-nots grew from the letters on your arms,
And the color of your hair faded to ash.

Now your soul is bluer than your ocean eyes
Hair longer than the one who made you cry 

“Make them proud” – “Make them bleed”
Don’t stitch up your mouth, scream through the fucking tears 



And if you let me hold your wrists while you weep,
Maybe the seat I saved, is yours to keep 
And if your blinding smile is sad and weak 
Let me be the wall you’ll want to kick.

If the green in my eyes can’t erase the bluish tint of your bruises,
Let the brush of my lips on your cheek soothe the ache in your ribs.
Let me be the sweetness in your storm and the willing victim of your thorns.

God will give you strength but you don’t need it,
When you’re not the savior nor the culprit.
Let me wash your wounds and sit by your bed,
Wipe away the blood and cradle your head.

You don’t have to bare the weight of your own cross,
Let me help you through the joy and the loss. 

God won’t give you strength but you’ll find it, 
In our drunken hours, our laughing fits.



With my undying loyalty and friendship.
Yours to call and yours to keep.

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A little bit about the author :

Name : Istara

Pronouns : they/them

Age : 19

Location : France

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