Hold a Gun to my Head, Put it Down by the End of Dinner

I know humanity’s sort-of

given up, when I see palm-readers; 

I mean no offence to palmistry—

but a fistful to humans; 

If I ever throw a punch (I won’t),

it will be for you and me, darling; 

The world has enough to believe in, 

yet none are about love;

The lines on my hand will not

reveal the musings in my heart;

Nor will your God know me

the way that you do;

You can believe in falsities,

I will still love you;

But I will never agree—

Love isn’t about that,

Hold a gun to my head,

still, a fight is due;

Profanity will escape my lips

as easily as I say I–love–you;

And if what you say is true,

I will take my place in hell;

But what’s the need for a God,

for I have you;

I am my father’s daughter—

proud and headstrong;

Love me for what I am,

Not for what I was born.