Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

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.
Green grass,
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.
Nasty dirty,
skanky little white girls,
only live to watch me cry and ride the sky.

Submitted: Sunday, January 19, 2014

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