A/N: Metaphors, metaphors, metaphors. This is a message to everyone who needs it. Mainly to one person, but it applies to everyone else. Metaphors. My mother approves of this poem. I am happy. :D

I like your eyes, I have to say.
They're like darkness and like day.
And you say demons and murder hide behind them, but I laugh.
I don't see them.

I like your skin, I must admit.
It's a change, a perfect pigment.
Mottled, marked, marred and mangled, you say. I laugh.
I think it's spotless.

I like your home, I have to tell you.
It's made of all things true.
It's lovely and bright, just like you. You say it's dead, but I laugh.
I'm the dead thing here.

I like your innards, I must declare.
They fit in place without a care.
All made to cooperate and whole and full of nice things.
They're tortured, tangled, burnt and broken, you say. I laugh.
I don't see how.

I like your fingers, I profess.
They're all small and frail and spotless.
Cradled between my great ones, you say they're evil. I laugh.
I've seen them build such pretty things.

So dance with me, I must beg.
You're all small and sad and downhearted.
Why do you shake off my grip?
I smile, but it doesn't quite work.
My eyes are dull when yours are.
Each prick to your skin is a knife to my cold heart.
It's a scary thing when my home seems brighter than yours.
My innards are all dust and smoke; I love to hear your heart beating.
My fingers can't build quite like yours can.
So I'll take those tiny hands in mine and lead you out into the rain,
because it's such a slighter pain than seeing you so down.

While my eyes go bright with hurt, can I make you spin and twirl?
To see you dance is more invigorating than any health potion.
Will you give your bright smile for me? It's such a lovely thing to see.
Your face isn't quite complete without it.
Such contrast between scale and skin.

Come on then, dance with me.
You're not evil. You're not evil, I know.
You're not a monster and I can't see your claws.
You don't have fangs and lack these jaws.
Tilt your head back and open your silly maw,
because it's raining and rain might cool your head.
I will keep holding you when you try to bite.
You've got blunt little teeth, my dear, and my hide won't quite relent.
Bark all you want. I've heard scarier calls.
Or perhaps you will stay silent.
I specialise in quiet. Don't think it will scare me off.
I will hoist you onto my shoulders and parade you about in the rain. There's a lovely view from up there.

From up there, you can see all the wide lands before us.
Above the sea of your despair, the rain can be really quite clear.
Maybe then you'll be able to see that there are many things you are,
and evil is not one of them.
There is no blood on your fingers,
only the dust of diamonds and beautiful things you've made.
There's no murder in your eyes,
just the memories of wondrous things you've seen.
The bats can squeak their protests all they like,
but even an enderman knows that they can be flicked off.
Harsh winds will blow away.
Old wounds will heal.

You're still fine, I must say.
You still have such pure eyes.