You were responding,
To a folly,
With energy from a lifetime of pugilism,
You were bumfuzzled by the existence of the error,
And outrage took precedence over patience,

You lashed with your tongue like I was property in your plantation,
Like I showed a spirit that threatened to throw the yoke,
Like I was somehow audacious and menacing,
When all I did was display an effeminate flair,
A vanity that is, indeed, unbecoming,
And required correction,
And I wonder how you lived so long without knowing no quality can be destroyed by language.

You aggravated my condition,
You taught me how to hate myself,
And hate others like me,
And even now the qualities you saw remain alive,
I seek remedies for the pain you caused in every moment of my life,
Where once I confided in myself,
I now confide in no one,

You were wrong,
What I needed was a gentle correction,
A leader who could show me how a man's heart should glow,
But you so feared the light of your own soul, I know,
That dark hate became your refuge,
And you became a misanthrope,
Clinging to the memory of a fight so you could hurl it into the present's exposition,

I no longer wish to believe that pain can fix dysfunction.
So I lay your words to rest and a say a prayer,
For your immortal soul.