I ain't sorry

I apologize that

my tongue does

not  flap the way

yours does


I’m sorry my

vernacular does

not meet your



My southern twang

drips sparingly from

my lips like

sweet tea rain

I am not ashamed


Do not discredit

my words

do not mash my

opinions into black

and blue powder

turning it into war paint

when I so much

as talk back


Turning “y’all” and

“ain’t”  into acid on

your tongue

I hope it burns

staining your teeth

green and brown

like tobacco fields


Eyes yellow like

rows of corn

your ears will



Don’t shame me

for the words

engraved onto my



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