A ******* kid growing up
in Rosewood all alone,
a world full of anger
& turf fights.

She learned early-on
how to use a butterfly knife,
showcases a horizontal battle scar
on her shoulder blade,
it makes her look mean.

She has the face of a dark angel,
elegant-Hispanic
with hints of ******
twisted on her full rosy lips.
She talks rude street-vernacular,
the same dialect used by
those  cracked gems
doing hard time
down in the big house.

She’s just seventeen,
and not the kind
found standing in
a Beatle happy-ever-after love song.
This girl plays tough,
she witnessed her first drive-by at ten,
dropped out at twelve,
she’d slit your throat for her tribe,
that’s rough.

And sadly,
she’ll never get out,
ever get to see
the wonderful things
most young girls dream about
that come true.