With A Montague

Chasing a ghost in a morgue,

The absolute objective of a mindful boy is

To hang up his tights and pick up a 

Disaster kit.

He's gonna be the hero because no man wants his son to be a victim.

It gets twisted. 

He forgets that it is okay to show misery,

He turns pain into misogyny. 

Dominance is a man's world. 

But merely his mindful self forgot that he owes his self worth to a woman.

Shook her twice to remind her,

He's not the same nice boy,

His wounds gritted in oil.

This once gracious seed planted in his mother's soil became a tree struck down for lumber and the stump became a melting pot for bullets with no weapon to be fired from.

He fires off sentence after sentence like " don't I deserve to live without turmoil? Why do I have to carry some weight of a female world?"

We'll have another convention in which a room filled with mistakes will decide the next step for those with no voice,

What an insane invention. 

A world in such a mess does not leave better thought choices to the less,

Lest we become 1 out of 99. 

Lest we hold our tongue,

We get our hands held in shackles,

Our loved ones destroyed by a system made not to survive.

To breed a new cycle of hate.

Watching a woman have her soul cracked in pieces, a wife with no options because a man makes the choices in her life.

Oppressed so hard,

Every want to fight gets repressed,

And the system requests a repossession of her spirit.

"I'll fight tomorrow."

Who will fight today?