I always bounce back to you,
I don’t even care if it makes me blue.
You see me hurt myself every time,
But you just come back with a smile.

I try my best to ignore,
Haven't you gotten bored?
I still don’t know what to do,
Goodness, why do I still want you?

Is this who I want to be?
I can remember this wasn't me.
I know I can be more resilient,
I know I have to keep my distance.

I can’t see what I see in you,
After all this time it still feels new.
You throw me and I bounce back,
I don’t want it, my emotions are jacked.

I hate you, I love you, can’t decide,
Why don’t I just hide?
What if I don’t come back?
Which is one quality that I lack.

Colored men don’t talk,
Like in the history books.
Their job is to work *****,
Expect (less) what they deserve.
Their potential doesn't matter.

Young men don’t talk,
Doesn’t sound right for their age.
Their job is to stay back, observe,
Let someone (egotistic) mature talk.
Their competence doesn't matter.

Emotional men don’t talk,
People hate tears.
Their job is to **** it up,
Have a (stone-cold) strong heart.
Their credibility doesn't matter.

Unless they accept the truth,
That the world we live in is,
(Racist, narcissistic, bland.)
Perfect in every way.
Their words don’t matter.

I feel the devil sitting on my shoulder,
Whom every man considers an ill omen.
I feel my house is burning in a fire,
And all I can do is write a poem.

I feel the devil's whisper in my ear,
Which tells me to do something bad.
I feel the darkness coming closer,
And I don’t even know how to be mad.

I feel the devil's spear pricking my neck,
Punishing me for all my sins.
I feel the tarots torn on the deck,
And all I can do is grin.

I feel his presence growing,
The hope in me has started to melt.
I feel my freedom ending,
And I can't even cry for help.

After all this time, the question is the same,
But first I want to know, when did you start playing that wicked game?
How did you not see me getting hurt?
By the way, are your eyes still covered in dirt?
I am sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?
Wasn’t it all so fun, cruel, and laughable?
Weren’t you feeding me a ******* lie?
Did you chock me out of my ******* mind?
Don’t worry I can answer it for you: Yes,
After all these years I am still a mess.
After all this time I can’t let go of the pain, the anger, the hatred.
After all, that was one helluva betrayal.
I don’t know how to not feel low.
I don’t want to LET. IT. GO.