My back hurts.

I’m sick of being used.

Being YOUR muse.

I’m tired of you needing me only when you need emotional support

or your ego stroked

I’m done.

My back hurts.

You’ve used me as a stepping stool

Taking advantage of my tendency to encourage

Because I actually want to see you do better

And they say Black women don’t support our men.

My back hurts.

When you lay atop me

I cringe

And a piece of me dies.

Knowing…

Knowing…that all this support

The cushion I give you

The grace I afford you

The excuses I create

Will never be returned.