I lower my gaze, expectations fall.
I see the floor, locked inside concrete stalls.
Fading out flowers from bare empty walls,
phasing out the masses,
I’m being cleansed with,
blessings and waterfalls.
Shunning the haters, and the raters,
running now instead of crawling first.
Gunning for fakers, and the rapers,
I can’t mistake the picture of thirst,
on their dirt, faces, at all.
They know they don’t have a hold on me,
and still,
they expect me to answer their role calls,
a puppet beyond my free will,
I don’t recall,
the words c’est la vie being whispered into my birth ears at all.
I’m the first breath of God,
it wasn’t my rib that was robbed,
so run up your currencies with the Lord of it all.
I’m not selling my soul.
your economy,
veiled under hazy shawls,
my place in life,
is no free for all.
I’m sitting at my mother’s feet,
while you’re sinking in your skin sin,
frolicking in your phallic symbolisms,
to and fro licking Louis’ wet wings.
What, is my foresight too deep?
Conniving and concurring while I lay myself to sleep,
lighting candles for angels to keep me sweet, while,
your verse sings specifically for misogynistic heat,
leaving us wondering Why him and not me.
Signing names in exhausting inequality,
a hate full of hurt,
as you purport,
to know who you are.
And it’s too late to retreat,
you’ve taken it too far.
Because in this reality,
I’m in free fall,
the truth calls,
and I’m called,

ink is free, so...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s