tribulations
Learn more about other poetry terms
I am not a poet I don’t write I don’t recite I don’t use my words correctly i don’t comprehend as well as others i don’t understand the rules I play ball, I’m good at it it makes me whole its my happy place The court is ninety-four feet the h
She wakes up to the cries of her hungry child.
Another night another hungry tummy experience.
She hobbles to her baby’s cot,
And feeds her from a dry breast,
Before taking a cup of dirty water,
Slick sleet, sleepy things
Stumble over me
Hot mess, camo dress
Be still to not be seen
Fire moths busy
Setting sparks to trees
No time to seek for shelter
As grenades go
I count the cracks on the sidewalk,
And hope they are even.
I press my face up against the glass of the navy blue wagon and jump from grass to grass
To go or not to go- that is the question:
Whether it is the early morning rise
That keeps the head in a groggy state
Or the thrill of the heart pounding
And, by opposing, wakes us. To wake, to go-
I’ve had a lot of ups and downs, a lot of trials coming at me.
That is why I write.
I’ve had people come into my life and then ones who just left me.
That is why I write.
Tell her she's nothing, useless, minuscule, minute,
Tell her she's worthless, the price of a penny
put your hands around her neck and choke her
until breath is begged for
