I ask myself,
 
 
cryptic heart sorrows…
 
 
Why does satan hug me like he misses me?
 
 
Why does this lonely walk I’m taking feel familiar?
 
 
Why do so many talk a great game but don’t know how to play the card they’re dealt?
 
Why can’t people stop talking about shit that doesn’t matter?
 
 
Why do people act like I’m a mind reader knowing that they fear that power?
 
 
Why the fuck do you think I’m ever going to back down?
 
 
Why do you think that my God does not protect me?  
 
 
Why am I cussin’?
 
 
Why is the smell of liar bullshit disgusting?
 
 
As is the smell of a lover with too many partners?
 
 
Why do I need to slow down and not you?
 
 
Why do I need to bow down and not you?
 
 
Can you not love me for who I am?
 
 
The Dragon with the wounded wings looking for a place to rest.
 
 
Why is a true sanctuary from the lies of men hard to find?
 
 
Why do the books I write look like women to me?
 
 
Why does the affair feel the same?
 
 
Why am I not surrounded by the ones I love?
 

 

-Graffiti Bleu…