it was a tuesday afternoon, in the middle of june,
this barternder and blue moon will surely be my demise..
Its become a routine, every week im a fiend but suddenly to my surprise...

A woman walked in standing at 5'4, seeemingly hungover and beat.
Eyeliner & lipstick fading..lookin as if she couldnt find sleeep,
her hair has half *****, half curly and partly braided.
she sat on the stool next to me partly *** what i stated...
I said "welcome! take a seat, this is the sober section, besides. all the good seats are taken".
She smiled, more like a smirk, then proceeded to sit, at first oddly looking a bit shaken..

i noticed she was young, pobably barely 21, and she had a tattoo on her back, as she reached for her purse...
Clearly i didnt kno her origin, but an idea i was formin, especially when her art read, 'beauty is a curse'...
Clearly she was gorgeous. Green eyes with a brown complexion..
I asked her in awe which town she was sent from?..

She said she was from the bay..
grew up in her mommas house but now shes living with her bae,
I said oh word, whos the lucky man who gets to keep you???.
She said God......
*** she doesnt need to mess with people.

what brings her here,?
in this bar by the pier,
where theres something in the beer, making normal people fear.

She said she came to spread the word of God....
immediately i figure shes a fraud.

Hows a 'martini, piercing on her lip, tattooed from her back to her hip,
looking like she wont tip....'
typa girl claiming to be holy?

She smiled, more like smirk, and whispered,........
you dont even know me.

And proceeded to say she came in this bar because there was a presence of a demon in disguise..

I laughed are u sure it isn't just u?
She held up a mirror. I saw a demon in my eyes.





-afj

This isn't love, This isn't hate.
This is that sorta thing hard to relate.
This isn't luck, this isn't fate,
This is that sorta thing hard to escape.

This is the truth, this is a lie,
This is my reason for getting on by,
This is a low, this is a high,
This is the reason I ask myself, why?.

This is a story that shouldn't be wrote.
This is a saying that you shouldn't quote.
This is a struggle that I've never spoke,
This is the reason I'm rowing the boat.

Why am I rowing the boat?

Refusing to sink,
3 a.m and i think,
By 5 a.m &I; might be crouched over a sink,

What of this life,
So called living,
so called, i haven't felt full since thanksgiving.

So called, so called...
God did his roll call,

And for a second I hesitated.
And whispered, Here... You?
The reply i got was..

I Hear You.



-afj

born poverty stricken, 
she lay her head on no mattress..
still she sung along to mary j. blige, like religious practice..

Stronger with each tear was the motto,
&so; she shed..
Because its hard to have dreams when you don't have a bed..

Its hard to have food for thought when you cant afford bread.
& the local Goodwill is dead..

Her speech was absurdly intact, & well spoken.
you would assume a girl trapped like that, wouldn't be open,
Yet.
Just 14, she showed potential of a graduate, beyond bachelors.
&& in our city record deals are the only time we owned Masters.

beneath those hazel eyes. there lies an old soul,
told, 
by her surroundings her future was a pole. 
bold, 
in her approach, how she stripped away the cold.
now dances in the daisies, dodging Hades, never sold.

&this; is no figment of imagination,
how her eyes hazel pigment, 
had the power to judge a nation.

Because she woke up daily, prepared as **** for that math test..
Though she was born poverty stricken, lay her head on no mattress..




-afj