There was a war within the conversation
Eight casualties reported that leaves only one left
The gun holder hears a voice cry: what do you want from me?
The gun confidently cocks a whisper: I want everything you didn’t give to me back
You see in my head you were supposed to care
Package your love as the gift I receive every second of the day
But you were so nonchalant like the fashionable fabric that hangs off the shoulder purposely and doesn’t care about any penny pinching opinions
Personality is fashion and doesn’t have to be understood
I didn’t expect you to comprehend the inner workings, I just wanted you to try
But you would rather show more interest in other things… I’m one of the reasons you’re still alive
Funny now I got your life in my hand
And I’m taking it, out like the trash today that has been sitting for too long
Anger starts to cry as the gun holder exclaims say goodbye, say goodbye, say goodbye
Can’t do it can you
Don’t make me pull this trigger
You ain’t never been about no action it’s always talk
Neither have you, you were supposed lead me out of Egypt, but you just had me going in circles of your desert mind
You were supposed to provide, but all you did was cover your tracks with paid excuses
I know I’m not perfect and I promise I did try… I’m just still hurt, and the kaleidoscope pain made me dizzy
It’s hard to move forward when you can’t catch balance as it falls, not to mention verbal bullets trying to permanently end the conversation
What do you want from me?
I want a ring, don’t casually date me be committed
I give you a release, I am your peace, but you only tool this pleasure for your advantage, making copper from gold
I’m a grown woman not one of your little friends
I want you to understand my history and stop browsing
I want you to protect me and walk on the busy side of the street
I want to feel safe in your arms, keep all the danger locked away
I’m a queen and want to be your friend to represent our royalty
I want to be your inhale and you my exhale
I’m jealous so I want to be your heart and rib
I want you to love me the way Christ married the cross, and left little posted notes on the mirror in the form of a book for His children’[
You wanted so much from me but never invested in me, us, our relationship has been life and death, but you keep it in the same breath… As small talk
Then expect me to take our conversations seriously
Well, if that’s what it’s going to be I’ll keep your letters piled up on the corner of the desk like the mail I need to throw away
Cold steel makes me spit sweat and choke on air
Kill shot, the gun is talking, the conversation has a period in the shape of a bullet
The white light gets louder as I grow older
Now what was all that talk you was saying?
Breathing heavy, is this it, is it too late?
Breathing heavy, She has blocked me
She is Poetry and my blood is the ink
I finally understand but is it too late
Breathing heavy
Please poetry take this writers block away from me
p.s. she just wants respect…