You can put me on a pedestal,
brush my hair back from my face.
You can count the dewdrops on the flowers
instead of all my disgrace
You can bathe me in the moonlight,
so my flaws can’t ever show
You can sing sweet soothing lullabies,
and still I’ll hate you so.
You can tear me down and bully me,
a slap across my face
You can point out each and every flaw,
call attention to this disgrace
You can take a mark away here or there,
you can’t reward the good I know
You’ll punish me for things I’ve done not
to make me hate you so.
Yet, I’m not the devil nor an angel
I’m not a sinner nor am I pure
I hate and then I love again,
Tis passion’s curse not cure
Although I touch at each extreme,
don’t insult me to my face
I’m neither good nor bad nor anything,
that you could ever place.