how did i find the strength to be used by you? wounded by a cycle that refuses to break, i gave you a chance, no wait, three. three chances to prove that you were worthy of me. liar. you are now obsolete. what’s more tragic, that i forgave you or i expected you to reach up and bring the heavens to my feet? you wove flowers into my hair once, and then i was stung by a swarm of bees. you promised but isn’t that the thing? these boys, these so called men, they promise and promise me, hate to see me cry but then do the same thing. so this cycle, this damn crucible laying by my feet, ill throw it aside, until these promises, are no longer obsolete.
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 