The Truth Hurts

In the world there are really 
men with zero respect for women; 
women with zero respect for themselves.

Strutting around loosely like 
the fly line on a fishing rod, 
using their body as bait to 
lure in the Big Fish.

And here it is I’m still penning 
love poems about how beauty 
ties my tongue into a tripwire 
my words stumble over. 
And how she’s beautiful enough 
to flaunt in an art gallery right 
next to a Picasso painting.

Then, I wake up from my dreamworld 
and see the same girl pregnant with a 
man that spent more time behind bars 
than with her. And not too long after her 
water breaks she will try to spend more 
time in the club than with her baby.

The reason I paint ugly 
pictures of reality so often, 
is because the beautiful ones 
are masterpiece enough to 
speak for themselves. 
And most people only listen 
to your words when they’re 
hostile enough to start a war.