The Song

I have been singing your song for a while now
recommending it to every mouthpiece
that caught my distracted attention
I did not know I’d find myself singing about
terrible things you say I’ve done.

You sing of knives, fire and pens
of how I hurt you when you were already weak
of what I do when all you want is love.

I am hatred, envy, prejudice
I am not yours anymore.

So when I heard the music
I left you in your white room
with that voice of saints
while I sat and made my own saltwater
out of big brown eyes
in a lonely corner
as you run about accusing me
of not loving you like I should.

You did not tell me
when I took you to church.
You did not tell me when I kissed
the water in your eyes.

I could not make you see
that I still loved you even
though I believed you were not right.

Instead, you hear only the hate you got,
you see the betrayal
from lovers you chose to love,
men you chose to walk with.

Today, for you, I am those men.

You will write more songs for me,
you will win more pink ribbons
and I will not love your songs
like I used to.

You, however
I will always love.

Photo credit: MarioMancuso 


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