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Photo by Volodymyr Hryshchenko on Unsplash

Wine gets better with time, I’m told, but I don’t drink.

Grape juice at church until the day I die. And old rice is good, apparently.

And old cheese, but I need the money now, I can’t lie

Everybody’s got opinions on what I should do, but just about no one can tell me how.

Deuce, deuce, I’m too old for this already, I don’t wanna talk anymore.

If I block your phone, I know I’ll regret it, I don’t wanna talk anymore.

Long days, long nights, long years, long life and don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for every second but there’s only so many ways to say what you said when you said it the first time.

A humble man will never have to tell me he’s humble.

A good man won’t ever have to tell me he’s good.

When I go outside, nobody’s about to stumble

But if you say you can do better, man, I wish you would.

Run it back on cassette tapes, way to date myself

Couldn’t work it out the first time, the casualty’s my health

I like them honest but don’t tell me about myself

When we’ve done this before and we know nobody wins

Run it back on cassette tapes, case empty on the shelf

Came undone this time, that’s what happens when we sin

Willingly, I guess, when we know how this ends,

Said y’all couldn’t play house but watch us both play pretend

Sitting on the ground in silence, mouth shut, seeing red

Sure does cost me peace of mind, Big Sean, I guess it’s too expensive

I don’t like who this turns me into

Saying pay your bill even though I know it’s sin

To call you talking crazy even if it’s just one time

But if they throw themselves at you like you tell me,

Shoot, go and find yourself another one

Hope you find what you’re looking for, hope she’s a dime

They say fall down seven times, stand up eight

But I called your phone again and I would say that nothing’s changed

But anybody my generation or older knows it’s hard to rewind a cassette the same way

Fall down seven times, stand up eight, your friends would double over laughing

If you said I was an eight on a good day

They don’t know me from a can of paint.

No hate in my heart but I need my space.



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Hope Rising

Hope Rising

Divorced, biracial woman | 23 going on 65 | Editor for Out of the Woods | I write to heal myself and others | Support me at