Though she…
swore she’d felt it before Love was still a mystery to her…
Promiscuity’d all but ruined it for her
Given her a…
Raw deal…
Out of wed lock child…
An UN-Fair shake, given by a physically abusive ex…
A… hot Ghetto mess
Quick to anger… easy to offend…
Yet some how easy to bend…
Between tossed sheets and pillows is where she began to feel slight slivers of the love…
Like sunlight entering slightly between venician blinds…
Seeking comfort…
gripping blankets and backs finding minor moments of escape from her pain…
in those thin lines between love and lust… those… “moments in love”
That weren’t worth the whispered lies in her ear at those bars…
Or the incorrect name moaned in her in the back of those cars…
She could… barely drive a stick
but could ride a…
Better then a chick in a porno flick and that became her…
Named her…
Friends blamed her… when their men left
Because females don’t like or trust each other and they all “know how she gets down”
They don’t know that she’s just lost looking for love
Damaged and cracked… a diamond stuck in the sewer grate
Finding fragments of affection and love between the knees of strangers…
She… beautifly broken… charismaticly cracked…
perhaps that is what attracts me to her…
Or is she just.... an echo?
No comments:
Post a Comment