Labelist theory states:
If a person is labeled something they are not and they don't agree with, one day they will stop defending themselves and be exactly what they are accused of being.

I'm being called an arsonist by a jury of my peers. By a jury of people who hang with me but now listening to someone who solely wants to see me dangling. I find myself constantly trying to protect my image like copyrights. But no matter the protection plan I enstate, I always find my name somewhere being defaced. I guess respect, loyalty and friendship wasn't enough to protect something like that. If it is then why am I catching charges. Why am I catching OJ treatment when yall say I will be missed like Ladanian on the chargers. Why is action only taken when the news say to take someone out like Michael Vick and not when a player asks you to look at the real problem like Colin Kaepernick. Maybe I'm not the one on trial, maybe this trial was a trial and error to see if this jury was a jury of my peers in the first place. And if this is the case then this a mistrial because I won't allow people who say they will miss me like Ladanian to the chargers be the same ones to take everything I worked with to another area code and call it by the same name. You can foot me the Bills because this is a OJ glove that I see fit. I am arsonist to the ties we had because that same rope won't be my nuse. I set fire to all your expectations of me because I won't watch my name get defaced like your personal property anymore. I accept your label for me with open arms because there is some borderline truth behind every sterotype, rumor, or lie because I have found mine.

The way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.

I love hard
I love like a boxing glove loves connecting with a jaw, or my jaw.
Or My love loves connecting with me sometimes that she forgets to wear the gloves,
or get a referee,
or let me know that we are playing this game.
I only know to play along when I hear the bell ring,
or if there's a ringing in my ear from her love taps and she's in that love me stance.
That stance the world ALWAYS misinterprets
The world says that stance means I'm the enemy
But they don't understand our language
In our language that means she's about to give love to my heart
like CPR, so open up and get ready for a pounding.
So open up and take my heart that is yours,
nothing about our love is Taxidermy
it is as true as purple is for royalty
or purple for my skin every time you show your love for me.
This is not abuse, she's not a tornado and i'm not a Kansas home
She's only testing my foundation
Separating the weak parts from the strong
That's normal right?
For the first time i'm doing something normal right?
Thats why we tell our sons to Man up right?! we punch our sons but kiss our daughters.
I'm just doing what i'm told:
Risk it for the biscuit
Do what boxers do, sway with the punches, don't resist
Others say what if this is abuse
I say love is like any drug, and what's a drug without its side effects.
When we lose consciousness together at night, that high is worth all the burning sensation retaliation words I build up in the back of my throat like ****.
When we are alone and I can finally inject her in my system heroine, the track marks she leaves after loving me is the best part cause even when she is gone I can look down at the marks and feel the love all over again.
My love is the only drug I need, it hits hard but....

Thats the way she tells me I'm hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist, its all fine
The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.

I'm the one
I'm who you show your parents
I'm not who you tell friends
I'm safe choice
I'm the rebound
I'm the medicine for confidence
I'm below average
I'm Igor
I'm below average
I'm "some day"
I'm below average
I'm "not in a million years"
I'm talented-
But not enough to look athletic
I'm "you look like you're in the band"
I'm too short to be athlete
I'm black-
But I'm not the black you see in movies.
I'm "you know what I mean?"
I'm that guy,
somebody you used to know
but not somebody worthy of a song
I'm a place holder
I'm bare minimum
I'm the perfect shape on your personality search-
But I'm not the right height
But I'm not the right shade
But I'm not the right time
I'm not the right Greek organization
I'm what you looking for
But I'm not the one

When you said you loved me only my left eye cried. When we together, my left side only knew love. When we were together my left side was the one you layed on. When you whispered your words of affection in my ear the left ear was always the receiver. When I was clinching your existence on a nightly basis my left arm was always on the bottom. Because my right arm was always the shield. The shield at night, the shield during the day, my shield for you, my sheild against you. The reason my right eye didn't cry too, because it's used to pain from you. My right side was both your offensive target and your defense mechanism . My right side knows what a knife in the back feels like because of your hippocracy and your hands. My right side knows things that my left side don't want to believe. Know how many times I use my right side as a bulletproof vest to danger, to the world, to you and then still be your soft side when she decided to take off the gloves. When you told me you loved me, my left side cried not because it loves you too, but for the first time it experienced pain. Pain that was only reserved for the right side. Pain that we both agreed that the left side shouldn't be exposed to like child watching their parents divorce. Unlike my right side, the left side's pain can't be healed with an ice pack, or aloe Vera, or even a good meal. When you told me you loved me was the day I became ambidextrous. The day my right and left side saw eye to eye.

When I tell my friend you have a Resting ***** Face. What I mean to say is your face is your bulletproof vest that these one shot guys are scared to shoot their shot at. What I mean is I don't have to worry about you being caught in the teeth of some sharply dressed shark who is looking for his next meal. What I mean is the guys who are scared to break their streaks with girls they meet in a snap will rethink their next words before asking you to chat. I don't tell you have resting ***** face to bring you down a peg. I tell you this because the next wood block boy who tries to talk to you see's what I see. A intelligent young lady who won't be swept away by good looks and false momentum. A brick wall screen stopping any defender whose chasing down her future. I know if I see you with any proposition like guy I don't have to be on auto correct or grammar check him,  because if he's made it this far then he saw the beauty that’s underneath your skin and your Resting ***** Face.

Love is a person of its own. It lives and dies just like us. My love for my last had a full life, and when that love departed for my life I thought I  was done lovin. I thought for the life that love had I finally won. It was the first love whose life didn't feel taken like a kidnapping, the first love that didn't die premeditatedly, the first love that didn't feel like self destruction or suicide. I thought I was done with lovin when that love died but then I met you. When I met you i felt a feeling of deja vu. When I met you i had feeling of both preparedness yet excitement like riding the same roller coaster a 2nd time.  When I met you i felt like it was a 2nd chance I didn't know I wanted until got to know you. When I met you i asked myself are you ready? Are you ready to raise another love life. Are you ready to go through the teenage love again? Are you ready to be reassurance when her love insurance not giving you full coverage? Are you ready to throw logic and reason away again only trust in Love? Are you ready for the days that all is right but love can change that in conversation? Are you ready for when all is wrong and love is the last thing you have to save the day? Are you ready? After the smiles, sweat, regret, ups, and downs I still answer Yes.