You’re being is compost
to all thoughts deemed sinful
by my grandmother.
You plant things in my mind
that invoke me to release him,
loosen the noose around his
dark, nappy neck beard.
To apologize to this man for
leaving him behind after what
had happen to us.
Casting him away in a shadow
of the character you know now.
Buried behind a man who
masks confidence and creativity.
You want him groomed, fed and present
in these relations we share.
Whereas, I adore who I am now;
even if the man I was before
is the man I am now,
wrapped in expensive clothes.

by. Philip Steverson