Not the Hoe (You Can Take to the Courthouse)

You told me every day that I didn’t care

I had nothing to say, I gave you a stare.

If you heard the wrong note within the strings

or if I didn't even say a thing

you would pull the triggers of verbal fits

and every bullet in me, it hits.

You drew the most important question

without showing an artistic expression

Without a sweet smile or blending your knees,

I respond with happiness of all degrees.

After four years of going up and down,

we may have finally landed on good ground.

Painting the wedding I have always wanted

while you made me feel my desires were haunted.

You said you would rather die and rot

than to dance with me as your new wife.

I have tried to negotiate,

but every color came with a berate.

Your face painted red when I used a penny,

to buy a dress to make me feel pretty.

You told me a wedding dress will not make me

a beautiful visual I tried to be

You saw me in the picture as a scum

instead of your bride I dreamed to become.

You painted me as your love who is lazy

with shadows added to make me look crazy.

Despite I am a student and worker full time

along with going to my therapist sometimes.

Yet, for you, my image was not enough

as you saw me as a bad draft and rough.

The verbal hits turned into verbal gunshots,

as my character turned into your robot.

Your demands grow bigger and bigger,

but my failure pulls that small trigger.

You threatened to erase yourself from the altar

a threat to piss off my gun-owning father.

Bright colors changed into colors of distress

the moment I tried on my white wedding dress.

I felt very damaged and ugly inside.

Yet, I paint a happy face on the outside.

That was the moment when I realized,

you were the main artist, just one-sided.

For you, the face of your future faithful spouse,

you saw a hoe to take to the courthouse,

After four long years of destroying myself,

you threatened to hide our painting on the shelf.

I realized I do not love myself very much

but my refusal to be torn down may be enough.

You told me that Sunday night that I never cared

I had nothing to say so I just bravely stared.

That one portrait you painted of me was false,

so I let you dance to your self-composed waltz.

As I solely danced to my own far away,

I heal from the failed draft of my canceled day.