I hate this feeling; as if I don’t see what is happing to me;

as if I don’t see you using me.

Only needed when there are certain standards to meet.

Only paying me when there is a need of me;

my color makes it no better Carmel cream with a kiss of lemon all over.

I no longer look towards you for discloser. I will be on top.

I know exactly what the bottom looks like.

Rim and grim from under your thumb;

in my blood, we survived.

Now it’s your turn to see what inferior misery looks like.

I am rooted like a tree;

only blossoming fruit comes from beneath me.

But from you I see, nothing but sham and misery.

Published by Cierra Nicole Crews