You’re a liar of the worst kind, a fabricator of delicate design, who took the softest part of my malleable soul and compressed it in pillage to fill your own hole
You approached under false claim, bent companionship to mimic your name, then you stripped away my worth with both your meaty hands, you ignored my plea’s for the spite of your plan
You offered a smile, an innocent start, a clever trap door that would defile my heart and my pride, an innocent start to the night my will died
Why didn’t I know my tears were the antidote to your injury, Why was I blind to my pain feeding the plight of your sins meant for me
The tender skin of my broken heart could only bleed and my thirst for relief led me to sip from the stream that feeds the root, of the tree that bears the forbidden fruit
My rhyme has no scheme and my words have no direction, and my voice still quivers from the memory of your selfish inflection
and I’m still screaming NO! and like that night it still falls silent, against the shame that drives the core of my tender self blame, my own criticism more violent than the actual act
I want to twist these words into a beautiful poem to make them fall into place in the same sense of the sense I try to make sense , but my tongue is still restricted by the bitter memory of your taste
There are memories that can not be bent to be anymore or less than the truth of what they are and the truth is ugly, the truth is four letters, the truth is a scar on my supple conscience
This story can not bare to bare the false pretenses of anything kinder than what it is, This story will not bend to the imitation you so willfully danced in
I can not wear a mask, and my pain can no longer sing the lullaby of your phantom, my fitful soul has thrown its hands up in the righteous claim of a confessing tantrum
I can still feel your hands around my throat, I can still feel my breath slip into a nightmarish dream and I can still feel the intrusion of your selfish delusion pounding against the insides of my sleep
but I have to rest! I have to release my heart from vines who sprung in the seeds you’ve sown, watered by the springs of my own detrimental sorrow
and I know my words aren’t very pretty, they aren’t posed delicately like I so often do, but I haven’t written them for the satisfaction of human ears, for the approval of my waiting peers, and tonight, I know the heavens hear my cries
I have collapsed, at the feet of a man who will not invade my exhausted body with anything more than a hand of grace, and my peace awaits there in the eyes of his sweet face, in the confines of the most beautiful word, in the redemption of the mess I will call art to try and save it
I have collapsed at the feet of a man and the word is his name and his name is Jesus, and he will save me.
Because you are a liar of the worst kind but I am his beloved and he is mine.
Your words are butter fly kisses upon my conscious
Rebuttals to the devils nonsense
And if idle thoughts are where he plays
Braid your essence into each array
Of notes
That dance upon the staff of my mind
And redefine the term that “Love is Blind”
For blind it is, but not it does
Shedding light upon truth that never was
There
In the lines of your hands
I find a maze of revelation laced in the strands
Of flesh
And by flesh I mean sight
For our blood is the hearth of humanities fight
For fair
Such a fragile word, keys laughter in heaven if ever heard
But you hear
My voice in it all
Perfecting precision in the arrow that sets my fall
For you
