Is It Poetry
Skank Dirty White Girl
I traded my lower middle body to him,
to learn to read and write.
My lips and breasts he could not touch.
The English teacher dressed in red I was.
I never had, I wish inside I were.
In my dreams, that Jerry Ringer,
does Judge muddy Bottoms, up the bloody moom.
I am simple, I am lost and just now predisposed,
and even now she thinks, I waste my talent.
The tall ones, have small feet, no true regrets.
Some have sores across their swollen middle,
on the sides of their cross hairs.
Never knowing what the truth is from a lie.
I have not seen in years I think because.
The pasture where I died is where they buried me.
The river where I drank is now gone dry.
The room where I grew up where I watched T.V.
his single cell is now for me, my lovely prison.
skanky little white girls,
only live to watch me cry and ride the sky.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(8 February 1911 – 6 October 1979)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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