Every week, another Excuse

EVERY WEEK, ANOTHER EXCUSE

You keep saying,

“You don’t love me.

I know you don’t love me.”

Then you tell me,

“Damn, can you at least pretend?”

But have you ever stopped to ask yourself

why I don’t look at you the same anymore?

Maybe deep down…

you already fucking know.

⸻

Every time you drink, here we go again,

Same damn story with a different end.

You get angry, disrespectful, start running your mouth,

Then when the liquor wears off, you wanna figure it out.

“It was because of this.”

“It was because of that.”

“It was something that you said.”

“It was something from my past.”

Boy, I’m fucking tired.

Every week there’s a brand-new reason

For the same old shit you keep repeating.

You hurt me,

Then explain it.

You disrespect me,

Then justify it.

You cross the line,

Then somehow turn around

And make me the reason you crossed it.

⸻

And the craziest part?

You almost never say,

“Baby, I was wrong.”

It’s always—

“But you…”

“But if you hadn’t…”

“But I thought…”

“But I was drinking…”

Shut up with the excuses.

For once in your life,

stand in what you did.

⸻

Every week, another fucking excuse,

Same disrespect, just something new.

You say you love me,

But your actions scream you hate me.

Then wonder why I don’t touch you,

Wonder why I don’t kiss you,

Wonder why being around you

Doesn’t feel the way it used to.

You keep asking,

“Why don’t you love me?”

Maybe ask yourself:

What the hell did you do

to the woman who did?

⸻

And let’s talk about that mortgage.

Yeah, you pay it.

You want a fucking trophy?

You act like because you pay for this house

I’m supposed to kiss your ass.

Like money bought my dignity.

Like paying bills bought my voice.

Like I’m supposed to sit here quietly

While you say whatever the hell you want.

No.

Paying the mortgage doesn’t make you my owner.

It doesn’t buy my respect.

It doesn’t buy my body.

It doesn’t buy my affection.

And it damn sure doesn’t give you permission

to treat me like I’m beneath you.

You want appreciation?

Act like somebody worth appreciating.

Because money can keep a roof over my head…

But it can’t make this house feel like a home.

⸻

Every week, another fucking excuse,

Same disrespect, just something new.

One week it’s alcohol.

Next week it’s stress.

Then it’s your past.

Then it’s me not loving you enough.

Funny how there’s always a reason

And somehow that reason is never you.

Maybe that’s the problem.

You can see everybody else’s mistakes

Except the ones staring back at you

in the fucking mirror.

⸻

I think you’re carrying shit

from relationships that happened before me.

Pain you never dealt with.

Anger you never healed.

Trust issues you dragged into this house

and dropped right in my lap.

But hear me clearly:

I am not those women.

I didn’t betray you.

I didn’t create your past.

I didn’t put those wounds inside you.

So stop making me bleed

for cuts I didn’t give you.

Call it whatever