No, it's not me!

I gave it a second round,
Of deeper reflecting,
And 'twas abundantly clear,
The fault was your own making.
It's your tribalist, broken, soul,
In quasi-eternal slumber,
And not the melanin in my skin,
So far as I can remember,
That's wrong and unqualified;
But if being what I am’s crime,
I'm a proud felon, it does seem,
Serving my precious time,
In your stupid dream.

I do care...

Though the truth be you're my life,

I made you feel I did not care,

But how, my love, care I don't?

You're that life without a spare!

You're that life, so precious,

That I cherish for all my days,

You're the air to my lungs,

The priceless gem to my eyes!

You're the smell of my morning air,

And the heat of my midday sun,
My raison d'être you are,
And the meaning of my life's fun.
In other words, this selfish me,
I can't afford to never care,
For my life without you,
Is fragile and bare.