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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