Why don't you love yourself as much as he loves you?
And why do you settle for his abuses
And why do you constantly make excuses
And why do you continue to protect the useless
Why
As he leaves his signature across your frame
As he kicks in his hatred and beats down your shame
And your marks
Remark
A remarkable tale
Of insecurity
Of female and male
Yearning to be a woman and a man
But all that stands before the world are features
Creatures who appear to be woman and man
Why do you hold on to a relationship
Thinking that relations make you whole
Why do you count yourself as number two
And why do you shadow the light in you
Why
I may not understand but take my hand and lead me to your point of view
And you may not understand but take my hand and follow me to the truth
We are just on the outside of each other looking in
Spectators
But I refuse to comprehend why bruises are his kisses
Or why scars are reminisces
'Cause to me that's inconsistent with the definition of love
Or maybe Webster didn't know what you were thinking of when he defined it
Blinded
Or maybe shielded
Or maybe you just want to be connected so you just refuse to really see it
Why
How many tears does your pillow hold
And does he give more hugs and loves or more chokeholds
Your puppet master's pulling all the strings
So you dance to his command and sing the songs he wants you to sing
So tell me what key do you sing violence in
And tell me how you're going sing when your life comes to a silent end
And I'm too old to pretend
And too old to give hints
I'm too old to be coy
And too old to be a silent witness
And you should love you more than to let him kiss this away
Or let him whisper softly in your ear "Sorry"
"Don't worry"
And then a few days later it's the same lame story
And this is the same old eulogy
And this is the same tale fueling me
And it's the same lesson schooling me
And the same men trying to fool me
And it's the same rose upon the same coffin
But not the last dead woman walking
And if these words are talking to you
Just know that there are plenty of graveyards plotting for you
But as the author of your life
You hold the pen
You hold the chapters
And you hold the ending
And I hope you hear the raw message that I'm sending
Decide if this will be the end or the beginning
The loser or the winning
Representing for all the women who refuse to be a victim
Who refuse to be the dictum
But this is all just my opinion
My opinion
My opinion
But still hoping and wishing
That you will open up your eyes.



- Chyrra Greene