Why I write
The I’s of the world
Hammer out revenge
Behind defense
Of a brick fence
Running in the door
Just ahead of the wind
She tries to wipe the blood away
But she’s all read like a book
The audience only gives one look
Clenching her dress
Attempting to repent
For what this circus jury
Calls fraudulent
They surround her
Douse her in their truth
Wake up
Just a dream
I’d go back to bottlin’ up
What he did to me
Mind boggling
At eleven I was modeling
For his perfect ideal
high heels his barbie girl
More like his baby doll
Dress it up
Take it off
Today he just meant my skin
How does one rub off dirt
He asked
As he tried to reach under my shirt
Put my hand out to block him
But the words no didn’t reach his ears
His ex says to my face
I was to blame for being touched that way
I should have fought his line of thought
My throat got caught on the thirst for truth
Nervous breakdown
I was the third triangle on his crown
That he stole from innocent youth
And what that hammer didn’t bring down
Is the sound of support
I write because no one will tell a broken heart
That falls apart in the bathroom stalls
Black art attestation must be suppressed
Words written out of the agony in my head
The I’s of the world
Don’t bang their gavels for justice
All they want to do is hang a head
The Quy’s of the world
Use a pen instead