The court recorder types so fast,
The accusations and blasts of disappointment,
I think I must be more careful
About who I am when I am with you.
I brought my bag of expectations
A wardrobe of suits for every occasion
And a heart paved with good intentions.
And then there were the cloaks
Designed to cover unhealed scars and misconceptions.
The things I did not want to look at or you to see
And yet I pulled you in and like a tour guide
At the Uffizi Palace
Sometimes kindly sometimes not,
You pointed to the broken pieces of me
You looked for the lost fragments
And the sculptures that had never been unveiled,
I found myself naked and ashamed
I learnt to run
And now I know you were the Hand of God
And I’m asking when will the tour be over –
Can we please just go to the gift shop.