My poetry comes out of me.
The more you resist it the more I see
how rhymes and verse can be
just what I need to get free.

From your egotistical embrace
your original song is just a case
of you always needing your space
without regard to my needs or taste.

I'm sorry if I dare to dream
of the butter and the cream
while you're off posting your life on steem
its always you, know what I mean?

To myself I must be true,
you want to go, that makes me blue
but let me tell you what Imma do
I'm getting over loving you.