HUMILIATION RITUAL

Everyone talks about how loving a man is an humiliation ritual; you proved it to me twice.

Of course, I do hate your guts. 

Yet I cannot help but admire 

your dedication to ruining me.

Because if I was half that dedicated to my existence; I would have been at the top. 

You are cruel & cunny. 

Tortoise learns from the trick 

you pulled with me. 

You are the serpent that met with Eve

You are hell with a prick.

I knew along the line that you couldn’t 

be God’s plan for me. 

But I bow at your type of crazy

I am continually mesmerized by your commitment to ruining me.

The devil himself couldn’t get me

So he sent you; a demon in human clothing.

You wear the madness of 72 others. 

The wickedness of nephilims 

You are the power that resides in high places..

Even principalities flee at your sight;

that’s how dark your heart is.

You are the legion that comes with 77 others.

You are the locust and cankerworm 

that eats one up so much that 

they need restoration afterwards.

You are minimal in your efforts of love, but

Extraordinary in your dealings of ruin. 

You love with no effort.

You destroy everything good. 

You make excuses that makes one confuse.

I wish you fall one day and convulse; 

have a little taste of the grave, 

the ground you almost buried me in.

Nothing about you is good. 

Every soil you touch turns to ruin. 

Every soul that lies with you loses 

everything good.

There’s nothing good in you. 

Your lies are too heavy to ever be true.

I’ve lost track of how many times 

you looked into my eyes and lied to me. 

Swore on heaven,

just to break your vows to me. 

Yet your voice after carries no remorse, 

Even the devil begs you to teach 

him some of your works. 

You are that good at bringing hell to where heaven was.

You are the one that’s so perfect 

at making good things worse.

You turn good kiss to that of betrayal 

I am glad I left your kids on the sheet. 

I can’t imagine carrying them in me.

You are hell with a prick.

I hate your guts and audacity.

Your greed and dishonesty.

Your unfiltered manner of shaming me.

The heavy manipulation from 

every word you said to me. 

The crazy lies even when you knew 

honesty wouldn’t cause you anything.

I know you are somewhere; happy and chilling. 

That’s the issue with men like you and 

God like mine. He gives you time to 

find your path, then He 

compensates me with a Son of His.

My type of God makes me pray for 

you even when I hurt within 

and carry regrets of being 

collateral damage to your greedy being.

You are lucky. 

Ask my sisters in the street; 

everly ready to deliver judgement of hand. 

But God washes our sins, if not, 

you for don know who I be.

Unfortunately, you will get away with all you did. 

Until you meet someone who doesn’t 

believe in peace; like myself 

when i was actively running the street. 

One hands down because you still ran me street. 

I can’t compete.

Your type of demon borrows the Devil handbook.

I don’t think there’s nothing that can replace what you took from me; all of me, half of my soul, the things I could be, the dreams that made me be, the reality of my journey, the identity for my functioning, my fairy tales and mysteries, my little wonders and big drama. You left me with nothing but an hungry for recovery.

Now that I think of it; I am irritated by how I feel for it. I give you your flowers, as I send you nothing close to blessings.

May you met your Waterloo, the curses of Deuteronomy will find its way to you. I curse the ground that you till. May you find all the evil you’re given.

Of course I will pray for you, right after I find a cure to the anxiety you left me with.