on colorblindness and larceny

they call you thief
and paint you hues of lily,
ecru, golden sugar
warm like sun,
and point their fingers
when your fingers, clasped,
meet round the back
of kings they want to call their own–

fear not, princess of porcelain,
creamy courtesans: i see their folly.
i know your crowns
and your capes come stiff, steeped in blood
and guilt from your fathers,
stained with semen
from your brothers.
i smell the fear on your skin
but you need not worry;

you are no wily witch, i know.
no tome of incantations rests
between the mace and magazines
in your oversized purse,
no lovespells engraved on your lipstick tubes,
no vision behind your bug glasses but tunnel-.

take heart: i do not accuse you.
i know where the fault lies
and it is not in your bed.

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