I thought we called off the gig

Since I’m pregnant with your kid

Algebra 1

But this is Trig

It’s like you’re forcing me to dig

Your early grave

I feel the smoke

Filling the air

A disappointed stroke

To protect our child

I cannot choke

Your facade and ego

I shall not stroke

So go along with your facade

I won’t even make this my job

Beloved is making it easy

But too hard

You continue to hold up your guard

Patiently awaiting your exposure

The longer I stand

I can feel it coming closer

Through tears and heartache

Maturity

I grow older

A shoulder of love

Is starting to feel like a boulder