Perfection.

Did she give you her permission,

Or did you just decide,

That because you were a man,

You could now control her life,

Why can’t she wear that dress out,

Or spend the evening with her friend,

And when were you in charge of,

How much of her money she could spend,

You tell her that her career is wrong,

And there’s too much ink marked on her skin,

That her hair should be a tad longer,

And that her figure is too thin,

Tell me who are you to decide these things,

Who taught you this was love,

Who showed you that your hands were made,

For pushes, slaps and shoves,

Real men know that cowards,

Only make it so far in life,

And I pray you never have the satisfaction,

To have perfection as your wife.