A letter to you.


United States
26° 36' 15.8076" N, 81° 32' 55.2228" W

Dear You,

Since you all I’ve been able to hear are shots,
For each glass that I’ve learned was a plot.

Caught up in a YOLO generation,

And dehumanized by your melanin fixation.

“Oh, well I don’t want to leave.” That’s what she told me.

When I heard those words I shouldn’t have been naive.

But who would of thought,

My “best friend” wasn’t thinking about me.

But you were thinking about Me, so she was thinking about me.

and I wasn’t thinking about me, so I lost out on me.

You touched the sleeping beauty in me,

Up my legs and down my thighs you penetrated me.

Oh, well I wanted to leave,

But we’ve already established this wasn’t about me.

And then she said: “Oh, well I don’t want to leave.”

I went from smiles, kisses, and long talks,

And was forced into triggers, shots, and crack rocks.

I’ve cried a thousand times.

I’ve cried a thousand times trying to narrate the memories I couldn’t remember.

Wishing that I could rewind back to November so even the unjust would find injustice in your crime.

You touched me, Because it wasn’t about me.

You felt no remorse when you were feeding your ego,

I’m sure it was about power because I was laying there feeble.

You touched me, and it wasn’t even about me.

It wasn’t about the sex, because you wouldn’t come to me.

Not come for me, but come to me.

Come down to my level of unconsciousness,

Instead you went around and cut off your compassion.

You touched me, because you would of never gotten me.

And just like three years ago, you still haven’t gotten me.

Yes you raped my body, because you couldn’t touch my soul.


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