“I’ll take good care of your heart;
good care of your heart. I will take good care of your heart; good care of your heart. When you need a shoulder to cry on; a real good woman like me to rely on. Look no further. Your search is over. ‘Cause I’ll take good care of your heart; good care of your heart.” (press play to hear appeal)
That was her appeal; her plea or whatever you want to call it. She was begging for acquittal through her tears. This case was the reason she reflected on the years when the man in the mirror made her sick. She didn’t like what she saw, but she could never blame him. For his face convinced her to see, that in him was her, and in he was she.
Confusing I know, but imagine going back and forth in her mind every day. Being in a place so disturbing where growth couldn’t exist without change. So she shaved her head to expose her beautiful brain; a crown resembling the moon she was ruled by anyway.
If they were going to indict her she wanted to be convicted under the legislation of Love. She believed in unconditional acceptance. If she were the rightfully accused, solace would appear in what she was willing to lose. A compromise for the drama to be free from all the trauma.
She pictured herself in a cell. She didn’t mind being solitarily confined in the name of Justice. She felt safe knowing what there was to gain from the future.
Oh, how she longed for security, but the stability she desired, could only be acquired through the chamber she’d long ago buried deep.
“Any last words from the defense?” demanded his honor. The only question she pondered, contested hope for maybe the day would come when he’d again call her Baby. His voice rocked her soul. She dismissed it once as a myth, but the beat resonated home was where the heart and havoc lived.
The noise he cried out perfectly aligned with her feelings as of lately, “I don’t bother nobody, and I do the best I can. I treat everybody the same, and I love my fellow man. But what you ain’t gon’ do, is break my heart again. Don’t fuck with me the wrong way. I’m a little bit crazy.” (press play to hear response)
That response didn’t surprise her. Its truth built ammunition; killing the evidence of what was.
And the verdict is… who’s to say? But I’ll be the jury if you’ll be the judge.