She never read her story outside her room
never cared for ideas or opinions
born with a fifty year start
nineteen black and young
hiding from hands
reaching for her young breast
she's dangerous like Sierra Leone
her forrest dingling brown hair from her unsused comb
a journal holding her brass casket
a pin scratching the vinyl outside this green field
her lover some odd years older
he sings old tunes outside her bedroom window
the wind roam outside her eyes
slipping under polished lines and young lips
her legs bent with years and slained with captions
of secret genres her mother says she got a old slave stride
spine cracks wipe cracks wet with crack dreams hidden
under beneath her bedroom sheets
a jazzed bass guitar strumming no drums no sticks no bullshit
in the heart of her welled used hands Southern style
dancing like dangerous teens outside her story
these liimbs use to they use to tell stories
bullets being dugged from brown skin
crackling trees wipped outside her window scorched in fire
birth in broken homes outside her window
she never told her story outside her room
never cared for ideas or opinions
she was just punished for reality


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