My man says he wants to know my history
I’d rather let it remain a mystery
I’d rather root into the present and grow a vibrant life
Than be blown over by memories of past storms and strife
Battered by hard knocks too soon
I hungered for the elusive silver spoon
How can I tell him about that first burning sting
Of too-soon penile penetration, I was barely fourteen
Of teenage crushes that crushed my heart
To this day I wrestle with heartbreak in the dark
Of older men with erectile dysfunction
I thought I’d moved beyond that at this junction
How can I tell him about the prima donnas
Inexplicably exploding bombs of drama
How can I tell him about the mobster
Who said I was safe because he had a loaded gun in his trunk
If I was so safe, why was he driving drunk?
How can I tell him about the rich man who offered me everything
Except happiness and peace
I’ve dropped men so fast they felt hit by concrete
Don’t come between me and my dreams
I’ve made a lot of mistakes, painful and blistery
Yet I keep moving forward to write my own history
