He is the most creative man for me
The kindest guy, like angel that I see
He is with me, he never sets apart
He is the one, the man who stole my heart.

He always smile and never mad at me
He understands what gal I need to be
Why things are made and how to make a start
He's helping me, that man who stole my heart

When I'm with him I almost cannot speak
My tongue seems tied, my words I cannot seek
But when he smiles, I know I can be smart
He inspires me, that man who stole my heart

I didn't believe in paper cuts
much like I didn't believe in love
until one day as I turned the pages
of a rather flimsy paperback
bound together
more so by the story it held
between its yellowing pages
than by its tattered spine
In my hurry to rush forward
with the other lives
I found myself so invested in
I felt a stinging burn pierce
the flimsiest part of my index finger
that seemed separated from the blood
(that was with such impertinence
bursting forth from my veins)
by the smallest stretch of skin
I watched the crimson pool
and drip reluctantly onto
the unsuspecting paper
and realised in that moment
you don't fall in love
you stumble into it, face-first
and feel the singeing burn afterward

It's called the land of equal opportunity
For who?
If you're hair isn't processed, you're already eliminated
You already failed the test
They think their texture is the best
But don't let that discourage you
Because they don't know how beautiful it is to be...