9800
never recieving the real credit deserved
my pen moves so much these meta carpals are at a curve
I blow a dutch for my nerves
mama pardon those words
but this is all for a cause
weary of these poverty walls
the holes in my drawers
them days at the shelter
so reminiscent
the struggle and evictions
dwelling in the one room wood shack knocking the termites off the wall
as we stood back
pops worked his fingers to the bones
sharing the water hose from Ms. Johnson's home
watching the rodents roam
my toes were the tongue to my shoes
ridiculously overused
the school house laughs and mental abuse
the shame and insults that came with my name
blowing our nose on our clothes
flushing the toilet with with buckets
fighting amongst each other
daily ruckus
might not had the best of times but through it all love and prayer kept us together
just fine
