Cries Too Hard

Torch the moon, burn the schools

She wrote in red on her bedroom wall -

"Nothing's pure", the paint runs to the floor

She laughs too easily and cries too hard

Shouldn't drink alone, the colours run

How can she forgive

When we know well what we do?

Feather scratches on her wrist

Dry run with a bread knife for a final twist

It wouldn't be for show if it should come to this

She was born to feel it all, to see it all

When I feel so lightly it's still burning brightly

And she won't look away

Torch the moon, burn the schools

Why it's a man making all the rules

Frida Khalo poster on her door