PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

50 dollar (poem)

Thursday, Feb. 09, 2006

“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. 

 

So here’s what’s going on…..

 

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

 

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!*

 

 

 

 

 

 

8:28 p.m. ::
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