this road is winding and dark at times
with branches slapping me in my face and vines cutting my ankles
there's nothing to hold on to for my balance to steady
feeling like cinderella with melanin
wishing a glass slipper would appear out of the dark skies above me
but i know it won't
it's the allure that keeps me coming back
possibilities feel better than falling realities
so i come to the conclusion that we aren't going anywhere at least not together
i keep going to a place that isn't my own and he keeps coming into my space
and in so many more ways than one he fertilizes my spirits with bad seeds and worse dreams
the future is hazy even with the sun shining overhead
clouds interrupt like phone calls and text messages during the mid night
innocence tap dances on my womb's stage with a desire to be born
no, not this month, fair child - he hasn't called me yet
and if he doesn't call me by tonight, i will take that morning after pill because swallowing has a totally different meaning when the alarm clock frightens my biological one
no call, no rush, no relationship, no trust
(please excuse the tangent)
even when i had no expectations
the disappointments rained like sulfur on flesh
and not all burns mean sexually transmitted disease
i thought what we had was gold cuz it glistened in our sweat
but i was just a fool who loved him and everything he made me regret
tlloyd
I'm not sure who's more captivating, the real woman or the woman on her arm (which I'm sure might be real too)
The media's f.cked up. But besides that, if there was a picture that captured all of your vices, what would it look like?
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