I yearn to speak as I hurt,
That I might heal my bleeding heart’s cut.
I yearn to speak of fashion trends
And how we the royal priesthood have yielded to their every bend
Pardon me if I sound like mystery,
I’ve been confined to spill just poetry.
The world originates and we imitate,
Even with an eagle’s eye, it’s difficult to differentiate.
They call it fashion creativity
But I find it rarely distinct from insanity
Or what would you call wearing strands of threads
Yet hoping to conceal all but our heads.
From the ancient to the present,
The feminine gender has drifted from the innocent,
They have gone from wearing turtle necks,
To round necks, to V-necks,
To halter-necks and to no-necks: a.k.a tubes,
Giving us more than just clues.
The stronger vessels
Have seemingly turned leaking temples
As we now pierce our bodies
To feel as funky as our secular ‘homies’
Our hairs we now style and weave,
Making us less of Adam and more of Eve.
Do you now see the picture I paint?
Or would you rather I continued till I faint?
I do not criticize or castigate,
I’m light so I illuminate.
We can be trendy without bending,
We are the standards and standards stand out
We can be gorgeous and still be righteous
Church, we can be recent and still be decent.
