My Obsession

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I am my own Obsession. I am a new work of art in the every day tick tock tick tock seconds of life.

When I wake up, I am my own Obsession. I'm determined and bright and willing to,

Lock. Lock. Lock out the idiocy and the repetition of the constant screaming in my head.

I am not the dark. I am the dark. I am the black. I am the lightskinned Diva.

The fashionista. The intellectual. The Writer. The Scribble. Scribble. Scribble.

Of My words on this page. Of my thoughts and my feelings and my definition.

My words are my Obsession. The willingness to feel what I feel and Do what I do.

To Conquer what I conquer. I am a Woman. A Mans' Obsession. I swear, I can

Concieve. Concieve. Concieve. Your children in the form of love. 

Your hopelessness and desperation for my attention being birth in the form of a crush.

But I tell you, I can Crush. Crush. Crush. Every negative thought.

Every ripple on the surface of the lake that is my heart. Every face of putrid hatred that,

Bang. Bang. Bangs on the wall that is my mind and the walls that are my insides.

It hurts. I feel it deep down but then there's that other feel that I can do this.

This. This. This. Command your attention enough to read the words on this page.

To feel the broken respect of my faith.

To feel the same repetition of syllables and words that lack grace.

I am my own Obsession. And with these flaws that constantly just, remind me of,

My everyday Tap. Tap. Tap of my tongue on my upper lip.

Speaking out and telling people exactly what's on my mind.

How I spend my time and what I can do for a dime. It's with this

Tongue. Tongue. Tongue I can whip out a fire hotter than a Biblical lighter.

Spark the hatred of Freedom of Speech that I swear

Burns. Burns. Burns through the very foundation of gender and social normality.

Breaks through the Obsession of Me. Me. Me.

The One. The perfection of my flaws. And lastly may I remind You. 

Oh. You. You. You. Can be as perfect as me. 

You are your own Obsession.

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