You cannot tell me where to place my heart
by Ebone' Ingram
Because it is not yours, my dear, but mine.
This tempest that you've wrought tears me apart;
The skies are rough; the breakers are unkind.
My happiness has given way to pain
And fury vanquishes intended love.
I think of you, and hail mingles with rain-
Our quarreling has scared away the doves.
'My lif is mine! ' I'd told you times before;
And since my birth I've longed for cordial grace.
But still my words are frozen at the core
When I take but a glimpse there of your face.
I'm sorry wretched anger vexes you,
But I do what my heart tells me to do.