Dali: Poetry
|
Crown Two
|
||
|
A whore I feel - for real. I am searching for acceptance after all. Repentance. Smells of incense from passerby's who hear my moans of pain from inside body strain, and sheet stain. I confide in you, my deceased boo. You ghost, you. And right now I get up somehow and walk out into the street with you. We're always in mind and hand in hand to the corner store. I need more alcohol and poison to subside these feelings of true and utter loneliness. I confess our intensity. |
|
We're running now. We've stopped and I drop feeling the top of your pant legs brush against my face. It's a race now. Who's gonna win? If you pick me up and pull me in, Are we equal then? In some ways we already are. Claro que si? Little Puerto Rican, Haitian baby. Our blisters still bubble from parental figures tough love trouble. Spark a dog, roll up smoke steal for coke, and taste the fog in your lungs son. This daughter is done. |
|
|
||
|
Copyright notice. All material on NonPop.com is protected by copyright law and by international treaties. You may download this material and make reasonable number of copies of this material only for your own personal use. You may not otherwise reproduce, distribute, publicly perform, publicly display, or create derivative works of this material, unless authorized by the appropriate copyright owner(s). |
||