Even though my outer shell is unbreakable,
The structure inside me that was so hard
To build was finally complete,
Or at least that’s what I told myself.

Yet, my core is broken down and crumbling
as I slowly rot away and break,
I still feel every single piece of chipped off
Brick that I tried so hard to put up.

I see my walls falling despite my efforts
In this apocalyptic mess I call safety,
So I hide away, repairing myself
Piece by piece scared to ever love again.

Don't tell a rose how to grow,
And The birds how to chirp.
Don't tell your daughter to be soft,
Don't tell your son how to hurt.

Don't tell the sky what color to bleed,
And a person, the right way to grieve.
Don't try to tame your daughter's tongue,
Don't tell your son the manly ways to love.

Don't tell the wind which way to blow
Or the clouds how hard to rain.  
Don't teach your daughter how to soak,
Don't show your son how to easily reject.

Don't tell the sun to adjust its light
Or the truth how to show itself.
Don't tell your daughter it's feminine to shy,
Don't teach your son how to reign with fists held high.


Don't tell a heart how to beat
Or the mind how not to soar.
Don't clip off your daughter's  wings,
To make them a foundation for your son to grow.

Don't tell a rose how to grow,
Lest it decides to turn its petal into thorns.
Don't tell the birds how to chirp
And have their voices turn into rebellious growls.