Who the fuck do you think I is?
I'm no Beyoncé but how can you hold that against me when you're no Jay Z
Or J Cole...
How do my mistakes manage to get magnified while your flaws are filed away as construction costs.
As if somehow your trespasses are the expected and accepted toll for embarking this ship where quite frankly relations should be questioned.
I ask myself often how I landed here, covered in compromises. Handing over pieces of myself until I'm two inches shorter, 10 pounds lighter and I can't remember my own name.
And you're happy to watch me waste away if it means you have all my time and my mind and my body plus any body you can find.
Which lets me know you know exactly who the fuck I am. You're just hoping I never figure it out.
So that you can continue to leech from my love. Be a parasite of my power. And use my kindness as your crutch.
Well I've remembered who the fuck I am and I'm evicting myself from your island of idolization. I will swim myself to the safety of my own shores where your visa is invalid.
Who the fuck do you think you is?