“I Will Not Be ‘Your Girl'”

I will not be “your girl,”
Few better insults can there be.
Even for a couple months,
I belong to me.

You say that you may love me,
Crave me, and adore me,
But do you capture birds perched at your window,
Or cut the blooming roses from your garden?
You let them be,
In their true nature,
Free.

In what oh pretty mind of yours,
Does it make sense to place shackles,
Rules and guards upon my door,
In fear that I will disappear,
And want to be with you no more?

When did love become possession?
When did fear become our king?
I would rather break,
Than to ruin a charming thing.

In what oh pretty mind of yours,
Will this be the best use of my beauty,
To take a place upon your arm,
But have my wild substance
Judged and slowly taken from me?

Birds in cages seldom sing.
Roses cut will die in days.
If you place me on your arm,
I will surely fade away.

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