to ashley, wendy and any other sluts
I know you want my man
yea bitch
I intercepted the text
Got me all vexed
and heated
you so conceited
to think he'd wanna lick you
my man probably
would just stick the dick
to you
cause even though he calls you boo
he calls me wife
in the morning
in the night
in the kitchen
at his work
not ashamed of his woman's worth
And though you text
thinking you next
to make him leave
he's just practicing greed
He don't really want you
no matter what you read
It is I who feed
this man
in the morning
in the night
in the kitchen
and some days in his office at his work
not ashamed of his woman's worth
Quit your begging
that text was miserable
you know you're just a fling
coochie bags and that glass bottle ring
he put that fake bling
on your finger
but my fingers rock diamonds
and they truly are a girls best friend
in the morning
in the night
in the kitchen
and sometimes that's all I wear
bare
your soul
to him if you dare
flaunt that played out pussy
with your pencil leg jeans
drool stains
on your shirt thanks to baby number five
and I'll be damned
if my man is daddy number six
witch you wish
you wanna cause me fight
the outbox shows he says he likes you
right?
but to me he says I love you
in the morning
in the night
in the kitchen
and for always
not ashamed of his woman's worth
all days
And although I am ashamed
of my cheating man
stop textin’ him bitch
before I break your hand.
© copyright Tia L. Clarke
3 comments:
This works, all the way through. You must forgive my "LAZY" label. Lazy did not write this.
Did you write this, love? What sustained passion.
I am used to your switching off sooner, without the breadth and depth of sustained emotions which this indicates. What ability to row. This, I must say, is quite delightful street drama.
Is this where you are most comfortable, most at home?
Let me not mislead you, sidetrack you nor distract you if this is your voice. I'd advise you to go where this leads you.
I, on the other hand, am lead to examine what's obscure, Beowulf, The Kalevala, but I am wired weird.
There are so many floors to a society though, like the decks of a ship. I suppose we must report genuinely, witness, as Marion would say, wherever we have been assigned.
Where I am placed, gives birth to "Kemp Road Rain". We must be true to the quicksand in which we're stuck or sinking.
Tia,
did you write this, really? This is so very much the genre of "You Better Call Tyrone," though this, I think, is even better.
This bit is to die for: "and sometimes that's all I wear
bare"
What an entertainer you are. This is first rate and suitable for marketing, as is.
Yes, I wrote this. Maybe I am a bit more comfortable with this type of topic because this poem just flowed for me. I read the comments you've given me and though helpful tips were given, I didn't intend on abandoning what was most comfortable to me. Like you say, go where the poetry leads. Thanks!
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