sometimes I feel as if
I am dying, knowing
when that time comes
I am not fighting
spent most of my days
feeling lonely
no one understood me
regardless of the sadness
I kept on standing
for that blatant display
of boldness, I was pushed
around and sometimes
I was shoved to the ground
my health was deteriorating
a person can only take
so much hating, for what
I was sure of something
I was waiting for
every time I looked into
my swollen eyes, the mirror
told me I could not die
tearful I asked my reflection
why? "because you like pie"
yes that was true, I do like pie
why, I like pie so much
I learned to bake and make
filling, every time I was feeling
bad, I went to the kitchen
made crust and filled it with
what I had, sat at the table
with a knife in one hand
a pen in the other
it was either cut a piece
share with my brother
or smother our mother
in her sleep
The Immortal Wize
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CATEGORY
life
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COMMENTS
love_supreme says: I swear on everything, this is the most gansta poem I have ever read. |
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alexiscoon4135 says: I love this poem! |
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mlowe5 says: Back in the "Day" we would willingly say, "...and you can pat you foot to this." Your Mother remains wide awake in the swollen belly--the filling in the crust--of your poetic beautify. Bake on Son! Peace and Love, mlowe5. Pat you foot to this after thought: It is in dying that we are born again; it is in 'baking' that we rise 'agin'. |
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love_supreme says: Excellent write |
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