I’ve been pondering about the years lately
Having cremated pond fish nip at my frostbitten toes
Thinking about how interesting it is that fate worked out its ways for us
Wondering if it crossed your mind too…
Don’t you think these things to be interesting?
How simple it is to believe that someone almighty parted the Red Sea
And accepting He to make us the people in the land of the free
But the land of the free is no longer for you and me
We are who we ought to be
This kingdom is made of paper mache
And it’s crumbling to its ages
I’ve been pondering about the years lately
Having paper mache clay make my ancestry tree
Wondering why I never picked certain friends to be apart of my family
It’s probably because they already became somewhat of me
I’ve been pondering about the years lately
Staining the edges of my homework with coffee
Wondering why I ever let you get the best of me
And still smiling at my own mistakes
I’ve been pondering about you lately
Knowing that it was all a dumb mistake
To not have you by my side for eternity

I’m sick of hearing my life’s a haiku.
I’m into magic, love, and other sorts of things that are typically voodoo.
I’m half ***** from a half assed absent African baby boomer brat.
I’m half white trash.
Here’s a well formed of dried tears turned into something to sooth my canine teeth.
It tastes like Moonshine.
I can’t swim anymore, so I’m here drowning in a concrete pool.
Always, I look for the hell in you.

I sharpen my boot knife for ****** assault protection.
The first swipes for the plus 200,000 in counting.
The seconds for the 66 percent underreported.
The lasts for me,
the 29 percent victims aged 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, and 12.

We have a higher rate of risking everything.
For depression x3.
For committing suicide x4.
For post traumatic stress disorder x6.
For alcohol abuse x13.
For drug abuse x26.

You all think I’m crazy,
I’m not.

I sometimes get called
stupid, ugly, *****, and thot.

I’m in pain, in sorrow.
I can’t help it.
He did it.
No one can undo it.
What do we do about it?

I wont scream, I won't cry.

I’ll ask how he’s doing with glitter and tears in the corner of my eye.
And after he's done molesting me,
"Want to go grab some coffee or tea?"
Personally, I like the cafe down the street.
They sell good brunch with amazing croissants.

And after this is over,
I’d ask him how it was while he turned me over.