No one person should have all that power.
The power to entice, to lure, to seduce.
The sense to manipulate an exposed source of pain within a healing wound,
And lead it to an infectious state each time.
We as women hold power.
The power of temptation, seduction, entrapment.
We rather not admit it,
For it means we become a suspect in the crime.
We rather not see it,
For it means we have notches kept of our mishandled follies.
We rather not deal with the consequence our natural unhealed patterns unfold on the livelihood of our counterparts,
Hidden behind the true yet dueling rhetoric of our victimhood,
Never realizing, #wetoo, serve as predators.
I see what I want, who I want, and I make them mine.
I can do whatever to keep them.
I will silence their truest thoughts through emotional toil,
and make them feel guilty for not handling me.
I will make him be so attached to me,
To our roller coaster emotions,
Our trauma-bonded cycles,
Our passionate-poison encounters,
That he will never want to let go;
Do you really want to be the one who “got to him”?
Why am I proud?
Why would I want someone who is bonded to me by unwillful toxicity?
Chained and incarcerated by my feminine idolatry?
De-humanizing his truest identity to humanize my unhealed pain,
Breaking him down to the little girl I truly am;
Does he really want me?
Or is he afraid of me?
“A woman ain’t never wrong”—
That’s what they taught me.
We are the treasure for him,
So everything we say is royalty.
They beat us down anyways,
So don’t give them another chance,
And if you are wrong in something,
Just give him a little innocent glance.
Throw him off with your charm,
And remind him of his numerous blunders,
And how you put up with his lacks,
That’ll sure take him under!
Because I’m a WOMAN,
Bad, beautiful as can be,
And even if I do something wrong,
There’s no wrong done in me!
A woman ain’t never wrong,
That’s what they taught me.
Never realizing that being right,
Was the only thing keeping her company.
Boozed in the blues of her own attitude,
A lonely well of pain,
That in all of the antics of hiding truths,
There was no connection to gain.
Just a perfect portrait of a perfect woman,
Pressuring in a bottle of distress,
Looking up in the perspective of the world,
But looking down on herself as less.
Truthfully the women who taught me such,
Seem so tyrant, strong, and free,
But truly on the inside of such a mask,
Is a heavy coat of misery.
And misery loves company.
So, I’m a woman, and I can hide anything,
Therefore, I’m never wrong.
Because I’m not ready to show the world,
That I’ve made lots of mistakes all along.
So shiver at my resounding voice,
And press back from my blows,
Because a bad, strong woman like is never wrong,
And that’s how the story goes!
A woman is never wrong,
We are nothing to hide!
And now I get to pass to our daughters,
The black woman strength of pride.
Is something bothering you?
It’s crazy how you don’t care.
It’s crazy how you weren’t there.
Clearly you must not have time,
Because clearly this isn’t on your mind,
And I’m not here to tell,
I’m just here to yell,
Because if your love was really true,
You’ll know what has me so blue.
But since you can’t read my mind,
Don’t even waste my time.
Gone head and do what you gonna do,
Because I’ll do me and you can do you.
I wish you would stop doing this sh--,
You are upset just for the hell of it,
I wish you could see how much I’m trying,
But you’re always mad because I can’t read your mind.
You say don’t treat you like the other females,
Yet you expect me to know you based off their tall tales,
I’m really in love with you but you be blowin me,
Because you act as if I don’t have any emotional capacity,
Like I don’t lose sleep trying to figure you out,
But I guess that’s what gender roles are about.
So let me play my lane, set you free,
Let you do you ma, and I’ll just do me.
I say that I am starving for love,
But I reject to consume the affection on my plate.
How I feel my vital organs caving,
Yet somehow, the pain is bearable enough to neglect demolition.
My lonely antics are nothing more than the company of stubbornness,
Sent by the alternative truths of misread narratives,
A hold of apologies that have not occupied me
But somehow still own my lands.
I say that I am looking for love,
But I lay comfort in the stigmatism of lust,
Blurred images cleared by perceived silhouettes,
Instead of taking the time to see what’s clearly there—
Prescription, a correction to cover my natural misdirection,
But I guess I rather be blind.
I say I want real love but I’m fake.
I don’t trust but want you to be trustworthy.
I don’t open up but I want you to accept me.
I don’t submit but I want you to lead me.
I don’t admit I’m wrong but I want you to do right by me.
I won’t heal, but I want you to be healthy for me.
The most promoted jewel in the store,
Only to bring home jagged glass.
Truth is I don’t want love,
I want the idea of love,
The perception of love that is manageable,
An abbreviated freedom,
With a longevity of expectations—
I’ve created a truth that I can only imagine,
Yet never achieve,
The thing I desire most, love,
Because I chose to serve in it’s smoky reflection—
For the Streets.
Tossed. From Normality.