Etched in my forehead with deep, bloody strokes.
Unmissable print, forced down your throat.
You have no choice, it’s clearly stated.
No blur, no smear, no chance to be faded.
The instructions are clear, you oblige with relief,
To the tattoo on my face, the directions of a thief.
Take your time and bear my soul.
Don’t worry about me, you’ll take your toll.
But I’ll come back, naive and broken,
Oblivious to the truth beneath what you have spoken.
But it’s not your fault, you were told what to do,
By the tattoo on my forehead, far from new.
I didn’t ask for it but there it will stay,
To tell all the boys to treat me this way.