Cliche

it's a love poem
heartbroken with an outspoken pen
I'm supposed to solely
blame it on him
react because he tells me
what I lack
fight back, and if I'm lucky he'll
take me back
flames at home, hell in his eyes
'cause he's not mine
I should be seen with an emotional lens
bias against my emotions because
they don't please him
homemaker turned out to be a taker
talk of the cliche, because an ill
and troubled bed is where I'll lay
society's rules birth
society's fools
so with the face-paint I'll smile
red lips while I hold the child
red eyes when he locks me in my demise,
still expecting me to make love to the
lies