Tell L-O-V-E that I’m sorry, but it is in my nature never to nurture. I wonder had I ever learned to would I have gained by any measure. Tell my mother she’s forgiven, but that an elephant never forgets a brandished gun. It is almost as if you were sacrificing an only son like you were spiting the plethora. I tried to reconcile myself, but it never helped me none. I only wish that you could’ve seen what all that I’d become. Tell my author that I wish he was better at being a father. I used to look up to you, now I only wish that I’d looked farther. Send my grandmother meme's with hearts that “1,000 words” for me. I wish that I had visited more, please, don’t hold it against me. Tell Kim that I think his daughter is an asshole. If you have ever adored then been forlorn you can understand how that goes.
Tell them I simply had nothing left. That from heat one can melt. The embodiment of insanity emboldened enough to lobotomy myself. Misery dictates that I try and bring a few with me, two for every one contractually, for once I’m actually glad that I never did all that was tasked of me. Tell Jessica she saved me when shit was adverse. May I resurrect through verse using every stone she threw that put a dent in my hearse. Tell my fake friends, each one, of how they taught me to be a real one. I owe to them a fraction of the whole their division allowed me to become. Tell the games that I'm busted, that I only keep it a hundred. I could never ten for a dozen, and if there was a guest list my name was never wrote or spoken, so. I dealt with torment, held tensions dormant. I was prejudged and sentenced in straw courts without a warrant.
Tell my sins and vices it’s them I blame for how I got here. Ask them why when I thought they removed it they merely just masked the fear. So I’d carve my initials in every place that I'd hide, so if ever and when I’m forced to go back, I knew to swallow pride. I’m not perfect and so what, few amongst me are. Tell all the make believers to Windex the glass house after they mow the lawn. Gracefully, tell everybody that underestimated me, gratefully, all that ever did was motivated me. Opinions are variables so no matter what the odds are even against me. Tell them I deserve better competition and that I’d rather just go against me. Tell God we never had one conversation I care to recall. Tell my sister that when I dial she’ll be the only savior I call.
Tell Ashley Marie she put me through it. But that if I had to be put through it by anybody, that I’m just glad it was her. Tell my depression and my calamity to take flying fucks. Tell the mirror that it was my vanity that broke it when the seventh years finally up. Tell every female who saw fit to curve me they’re the reason my skin grew extra tough. I waited for payback but now I just can’t seem to thank you all enough. Tell my heart that upon my sleeve we exemplified the Haute Couture shit. Tell pain he needs to buy another round because I still can feel him. I told fate right to her face that she lied. That it was her who changed my future. I told death out of all of my friends, it was the coolest.
Tell failure it can no longer kill me. That it already tried. Once was coincidence, while twice is suspicious, but forgiven, and three times was enemy fire. Tell the root of all evil that giving chase to it was a fucking grind. Tell the police they can’t escape, that snuffing a black life is genocide. Make sure and tell it to Hip-Hop that it was the entity assisting me when I could breathe. That because of it I am forever “Purple Tape” and some army fatigues. If my contradictions are felt then you should know that as a writer, this is just how I bleed.
I’m just telling you what I know. I’m just telling you there was space for growing. Look, if the truth hurts, then tell whoever’s offended to pay me no mind and to just ignore me. Tell the misconceptions that they can miss me. Tell the assumptions most of them was out there showing their ass right along with me. Tell whoever I’ve wronged that I apologize. I guess progression is really more of a stepping stool than it is a water slide. They used to tell me I keep my pain inside and I would tell them who gives a fuck, I never asked for all this pain inside. I am standing among The Fray, front row center. I bartered my soul to gain admission and all I can hear them tell me is that I am in over my head after intermission.
