When will you hear my song past the soundtrack of your autobiography?
Forcing me to ride through ghost towns to get to your love.
Hughes might have known rivers, but i've waded up waterfalls pleading my case to you.
You attack me while holding the blade on the wrong end so that i can see your wounds past the inconvenience of mine.
I ache forgiveness while you slowly build walls of blood and tears
See me.
See me as human and as valid as you think your denials are.
trust me.
trust me to at least have one percent of a chance to be different than everyone else.
trust me to appreciate your accomplishments past your internal struggle
trust me to relate and be patient and see past my own anxiety to heal your wounds.
Maybe, just maybe
We can we can stop moaning spirituals and write poetry
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