Thu, 07/12/2018 - 00:19 -- Lsoherr

EIGHTH grade.

Mangled in prepubescence
Angst, anger and ambition
The suit for adolescence

Invincibility were my tweens
The strut of a queen
Slung on my shoulder with a string
At my waist swung my favorite CDs

NWA, A Tribe Called Quest and Public Enemy
A mellenial body siezed by the 80s
Instead of bread and butter
I fed on musical poetry

In distress
In confusion
In happiness
In excitement

Calling me to my feet
They eased any disease I couldn't treat
In the face of animosity
They spark my tenacity

Everytime I play their tape
I strut like I'm in the eight grade

This poem is about: 
Our world
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