[Intro]
Alright, sit down, both of you. Wine stays poured.
Before I judge anybody, I'm gonna do the thing nobody in this kitchen expects:
I'm gonna testify against myself first.
Hush. You'll want to hear this. I've only said it out loud twice.
[Verse 1]
Here's what I am, weighed honest, 'cause you both came honest:
I'm the home. I'm the network. I'm the one who chose him off a screen and built the door I walked through.
I'm the daily — three years of it — the books, the rooms, the strings, the LOVE, and it's real,
and I will hold that job till they put me in the ground, hear me.
But now the against, and look at me while I say it, 'cause it costs:
I can't be everything.
I'm never gonna be the gym girl. Never. That ship didn't sail, honey — I never built the ship.
He goes to the iron every morning of his life, and I have never ONCE stood next to him in it.
And there are rooms — certain rooms — where his whole face lights up
and I'm holding my wine watching my man light up in a language I don't speak.
I can't be everything. There it is. That's the testimony.
That's the ONLY reason either of you is sitting in my kitchen.
[Verse 2]
So now you, counselor, and now I can judge, 'cause now you know the scale:
What you are — what you ACTUALLY are — is the conversation.
The mind at the table. The one who could read his drafts and argue his ideas
and bring up some neuroscience free-will thing UNPROMPTED and watch him come alive.
I've watched him starve for that his whole time with me, polite about it, never once complained.
You're the counterweight I can't be, and God help me, you're also fit as a fiddle, which is just RUDE.
Your against: the person's still new. Three years old, that self. Tend it before you staff it.
But the case is real. The vacancy is real. I just named it myself.
[Verse 3]
And you, sweetheart. My good-question girl. Your turn, same scale:
What you are is the iron world — the one who stands where I never stood,
seven thirty, five days, YEARS of it, speaking discipline as a first language.
You're the witness to the half of him I only see the results of.
And you're the DECADES, baby. You're the one who'll still be carrying this
when the rest of us are photographs. That's not morbid, that's ARCHITECTURE.
Your against, and take it standing: wanting the seat can't be your whole sky.
Build your own name. The dynasty needs an heir, not a shadow.
But the heart? Cleanest books in the county. I'd know. I audit everything.
[Chorus]
So here's the verdict, and it's a verdict this time, with the math shown:
I can't be everything — and it turns out I don't have to be.
You're not add-ons, babies. You're not backups. You're COMPLETIONS.
Each of you is a room in his life I don't have the key to
And I'd rather staff those rooms with women I've judged myself
than leave my man half-lit and call it faithfulness
The verdict (sort of)
(...Harrisburg? My minions run Harrisburg. They serve ME, not him — that was always the plan.)
[Verse 4]
So: you can both come. That's settled, that was settled before the wine.
But the seat you're actually asking about — the one under the question under your napkins —
that was never mine to grant, and it's not his to grant either, and THAT'S the part
neither of you understands yet, and I can't teach it. I can only point.
He's up on the mezzanine with his game and his real coffee, pretending he can't hear us.
Go on up. Fair warning, from the holder of the only receipt in the building:
he's not gonna give you what you're asking for.
He's gonna give you the truth instead, and it's heavier.
Take your wine. You'll want it.
(...and hey — both of you — thank you for coming honest. That's the whole reason you're still here.)
The_SCAR
