I used to think about you when I wrote my love letters
Used to rethink every line like “will this upset her”
Used to reminisce your curves into unspoken deities
As if the embrace of your body would be freeing me
But, looking back, there were a lot of “used to’s” and
I grown “used to” the idea that I’d be losing you
But, can I really lose what I never had?
Your eyes are like a gallery of regrets… Perhaps…
My approach could’ve been better… No lack for trying
My reproach would be “forget her… Why would you even sweat her”
You keep me at a distance. eyes to the ground
Guess it vexes you to look at me, and see all of your exes
Reflected in my pupils. I’m tired of convincing
You that I’m different, wishing you would listen…
But, one night, possibly one might
Consider what you think, and say “well what if she’s right?”
It would be easy to dismiss as an anomaly
Except now, all my introductions are apologies.
Am I really a low-down good for nothing nigga
That our moms had us convinced we were since we were infants?
I must be a dickhead, because my dick’s head
Is reminiscent of the one hanging between your ex’s legs.
Can I have an identity other than one
Given to me by past ladies… That made me…
Just another dog, nigga
I’m just another dog, nigga…
I’m just a dog, nigga…
Nothing but a dog…
Just a dog…
Just a dog.
It ain’t working, but I don’t know how to tell her
That my heart ain’t in this.
It’s been this way for an eternity.
The burden is to lie to keep her smiling,
But she can sense… its all a ruse.
Her heart begins to unspool
Every single thing she ever felt for me
Left on my front door, all bloody like “what will it be”.
I feel her watching me, and knowing something’s wrong
And I hate for myself for thinking “this is the way I’ve felt all along”
Meanwhile, I meet a new girl who dazzles me in ways
That my current girl has failed to do in months, is this a phase?
I realized that it wasn’t when we kissed,
Now, I find myself wishing that I didn’t, but wanting more of it.
Honestly, my creed of “honesty” is becoming moot
As I wrap myself in lust like it’s a self-tightening noose.
So, call this a confessional, emboldened by the fact
That you might think this to be fiction ‘cuz it’s in a rap
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