Moving On...

by Janala

With back bent like bow and knees worn from scrubbin floors
Toes cramped in shoes that don't fit anymo', all this and
Still I must stroke your ego

My hands are fit to make a cake not a man
Something women like me don't  really understand

That other you finds strange delight in causing me the effects of Pain
while the sweet words you speak confuse and drive me insane

Today you need me - tommorow you won't
I feel like taking the knife to my throat,
Then again I'll be left to clean that up too, cause
You won't be home 'till the morning dew, and
Notice nothing except no meal cooked for you

For you I'm not cleaning, cooking or cockin' my leg no mo'
Today one of us is leaving out this door
I been hip to you for too long now,
Messing up lives all-over town

No more I do expect your name will cross my lips or
Feel the crashing thunder of your hips
Though my mind is not sure if you'll dance there again
Remembering good times, how it should have been

Rise I Shall and Will and Do, all in due time and without you
Strength and courage I know not of
Only shelter from the storms of  the men I have loved

That shelter from the coldness in the words you speak
with angry blows is what I seek
I cried "Save me sweet Jesus from this hell on earth"
He answered "Save yourself my child - don't you know your own worth?"

So with suitcase here I stand, waiting for you to take my hand
Say you've changed, but tell no lie and fulfill your vows until you die

Everything you keep; house, sheets, tupperware
Better things are promised to me out there
Goodbye stormy weather with fist of bronze
This child of God is moving on

Moving On... by Janala

© Copyright 1998. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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