Rape of the Queen

Our poor, poor Queen.

Folks say she’ll swallow you in one big gulp,

But she cannot eat if she’s beaten to a pulp.

Her nipples are swollen from her own ravenous descent,

And corporate banks fuck her without consent.

We claw at her eyes and pull at her hair,

Rip her silk gown, thus leaving her bare.

Her daughters picked like cherries from the streets.

Her ebony sons hacked down like dead oak trees.

A kingdom that turns to a burning violence.

Her shrieks muffled by police riots.

Bullets act as confetti at her coronation,

An heir to the throne of a corrupt nation.

We are infected by greed and hatred,

This city a temple, is no longer sacred.

We demand more and more from our dear Queen.

We suckle her dry, for we cannot wean.

She gives and gives, then is called a harlot.

I wail over the rape of our city of Charlotte.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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