free fall

we all fall down,

stumble around,

like rats in a cage.

Disposable,

expiraments,

our lives are not our own.

We are called thug.

" fuck boys"

"whore"

slut"

it makes my gut churn,

like the butter my great grandma made.

on the plantation.

Before free fall.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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