I’m homesick, my bodies a tent. Heavens supposed to be where home is. I guess it’s safe to say God’s people are homeless. And I don’t know what happened to my former world. I can no longer approach a beautiful girl and tell her, “You seem very classy. And if your personality was anything like the way you look, then we should at least be friends.” without her thinking 5000 steps ahead to an imaginary time where I’ll cheat on her, causing nothing but heartbreak. So she sucks her teeth at me, smirks, and walks off, thinking all men are dogs.
And I wanna catch up to her to say, I’m sorry to burst this bubble for you love, but not all men are dogs. While most are scheming of ways on how they can gaze at only the TOP of your head…I’d rather find a way to get you to open the keys to your mind up even though your name is all you said. We’re not all dogs. But if, and only if, we were all dogs, then I’m sorry love, you would unfortunately be considered a female dog…and I’ll leave it at that.
I’m tired of this constant battle between us men at my age trying to prove we’re not all the same while most women at the same age dressing like they crave AIDS continue calling each other bitches, sluts, or hoes like it’s a synonym for their real names. Us good men have minds that stay wondering of ways to improve your days on this world that is slowly passing away so what’s left to say other than…
We are not all the same. But don’t get me wrong, some men are monogamously challenged, and your attempts to domesticate a wild dog is as pointless as telling two deaf kids to play Marco Polo. So this poem might go to deaf ears, but hopefully the one’s able to hear will take heed to Morpheus’ line to free your mind, and stop wasting time to bitch and whine and understand us real men are out here on our grind, so who are you to say we are all the same?
This isn’t the world I was meant to be in.
So I’m homesick, my bodies a tent, Heavens supposed to be where home is. I guess it’s safe to say God’s people and us good men are homeless.