I see you smiling at them,
the boys, your jewels.
They always were your
precious stones, and I
your polished silver.
They beautiful as they were,
I only so when polished,
positioned and prepped
for the world to see,
to gaze upon and admire.
I’m no longer fit for your display.
My tarnished spots now
sing an ancient song—
in your world they offend.
In mine they are everything
I was meant to be.
Offensive to you,
they are freedom to me.