50 dollar (poem)
�boom boom�.ain�t it great to be crrrrazzzyy�.��
�
Ooops sorry I quickly got that little ditty stuck in my
head a few seconds ago.�
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So here�s what�s going on�..
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My sister�s coming.�
That�s really all that I can think about.� Keith is going to take a day off of school and play hooky meeting
his first cousins!� Woohoooo for
that!� The last time he saw them he was
5 and they both sat in his lap.� I doubt
that he remembers much about that first and only meeting.�
�
I came home early from work today feeling like total
ass.� I slept and took my drugs (that I
had forgotten) and still feel relatively like ass.
�
Tonight I wrote a poem�.after feeling inspired�but it
sucks
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50 dollar whore
�
i am a fifty dollar whore
when you won�t
you won�t
do for
�
the sentences gather together
climbing under the arch of
my back
across the hard core of my whole
when you�re gone
i get up
not down
�
i am a fifity dollar whore
when you can�t
you can�t
�
comfort me at night
�
no right blind sighted
you left
you left me alone
�
i am a fifty dollar whore
when you can�t
can�t give up to me
go down to me
there�s always something else
something more
�
i am a�.
fifty cents
not that black dood
white girl
wanna hurl
down the hallway
clinging to the words
�
no sense in arguing
when you don�t
you won�t
tickle my inner thighs
with your eyes
or call me your perfect little
troubled whore
�
my well read fool mine
goes out
coffee hunting
when you don�t
you don�t
i do
find another man
in the book
the books lined
like hungry soldiers
across a war torn shore
�
their words
speeches
take me
they take me
out to dinner in paris
at a bistro
i�m not homeless emotion
any any more
their hands know me
they caress me
when you don�t
don�t know where i am
dancing on the bare naked floor
�
when you can�t
you just can�t
i am a fifty dollar whore
for my text
lined up out of context
you want
you don�t
you can�t
but i can
with fifty dollars
i can find myself
in depth
never wanting sweet milkshake
you can�t shake me �more
�
it will take me
break me
bent me
bend tree�s
into fantasy�s
that keep
me happy
�
forever more
�
but i am not your whore
emotionally i�m
elsewhere
any more
�
muse ick
i sleep with poet-icks
my mattress flattened
a yellow aged
lullaby
under my astricks
dreaming about creamsicles
and summer days
swan�s swimming
grinning
evil patriarchs
daisy panties
one day missing from the weak
my sunday
hidden in someone else�s drawer
�
i am a fifty dollar
with a rain check
whore
�
when you can�t
i won�t you don�t
we shall not
i cannot
give the f
�
uck
as i tramp dance
out the lonely door
�
-PoeticaL
�
*scribbled on an envelope while sitting in my cold car on a
very cold and frigid Floridian night under a spotlight with a cracked glass
shell tonight night....after spending $50 at the bookstore..this whore!*
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