If I Was an Object

If I was an object, I’d be nice and maroon,
Little do you know, I’ll be yours soon If I was an object, I’d be round, I’d be smooth,
so your lies could just, roll right off of me. 
Maybe then they’d like me, maybe then they’d choose me,
maybe then they’d use me, never have to lose me.
Mama, what did those boys mean?
Am I meant to wait till their love comes through?
Will their love beam me up, like a light, like a sign,
or am I just something to set on a shelf and call “fine”? 
Mama, you cried when I told you I liked girls,
so if I was an object you could smash me to pearls.
Pretty little pieces, quiet little proof,
something you can pocket, something you can smooth. Papa, you burned my letter to soothe yourself
so if I was an object you could burn me, not just in your chest
Would you have liked that? Would it make you feel better?
if I was just matter and not someone’s daughter?? 
If I was an object, they could just put me on the shelf,
No mess, no surprise, no ache in my chest,
easy to carry, easy to set down, easy to “love” when it’s best.
If I was an object, I’d be a spare key,
so you could lock me out and still keep me.
If I was an object, I’d be light as air,
so when you drop me, well, I’m not really there. Mama, you cried when I told you I liked girls,
so if I was an object you could smash me to pearls.
Pretty little pieces, quiet little proof,
something you can pocket, something you can smooth. Papa, you burned my letter, turned the page to ash,
so if I was an object you could burn me faster.
Would you have liked that? Would it make you feel better
if I was just matter and not someone’s daughter?? 
But I’m not an object. I bruise, I bleed.
I laugh at the thought, then I shake in my sheets.
Maybe I’m asking too much, just to fit in your life,
so I shrink to a “thing” and you call that “polite.” And maybe that’s funny in a sad little way
who even thinks this, then thinks it all day?
I try to be useful, I try to be small,
but even my silence still bothers you all. Mama, you cried when I told you I liked girls,
so if I was an object you could smash me to pearls.
Pretty little pieces, quiet little proof,
something you can pocket, something you can smooth. Papa, you burned my letter, turned the page to ash,
so if I was an object you could burn me faster.
Would you have liked that? Would it make you feel better
if I was just matter and not someone’s daughter?? 
If I was an object, I’d finally belong.
But I’m a person, so I’m “hard” all along.
Hard to hold, hard to name, hard to keep in a box,
hard to love like a lamp, like a chair, like a lock. If I was an object… I’d finally be “good.”
But I’m a person.
And I wish you understood.