“Jealous”

Don't be Jealous, Mama Cita

That all men like this were born

For the ones like this who're lonely...

Oxymoron "good" with "mourn."

In our waking we are aching

Our father God knows this forlorn

And so He made us in His image...

In order to go through this storm.

He knew we'd have no time for makeup

He gave us grace to save us time

For everything we have we fight for

We draw our weapons at front line

All the work makes eyebrows sweaty

Our tears would smear our face

Our eyelashes curl like biceps

Holding emotions back in place

What you see is what you get, yes

But I assure you they're not free

To be born this way's a debt,

Only paid at wake's respect,

At least that's how it is...for me.