She tried to poke my ego with her own,
but she don't know, I told myself,
she don't know how deep this beast goes.
But I'm still at work so
I took a minute to reflect,
to look at myself and attest
to the surgical marks on my chest
where the worst parts of me met grace
But of course,
Lucy told me to flex.
I told the punk to kick rocks.
He called me a pretender,
a wannabe son of God.
I asked him if he was big-mad or little-mad,
if he ever got tired of being my punching bag--
I ain't hear much after that.
Guess we know who won.
He ain't answer my question though.
I'm a little hurt.
Cover Photo by Filip Mroz on Unsplash