The Ghetto Kiss

assThe Ghetto Kiss

Early in the morning I put breakfast on your table,
Now that chick sure aint me!
Every meal we eat is in front the TV,
I am the poor, the whichamickfricken needy.
Tired of y’all sangin these love songs that don’t even relate to me.
Ya sneak up to my door my late at night, wit a chicken dinner and a sac of weed.
In those late night hours, you love my blonde weave
And how everything I got on is in camouflage pink.
Funny how when the sun rises,
Pink is the color of the skin you seek.
Where do you think I got my pride?
How do you think there is a dance in my stride?
Part of the radiance in my shine,
Comes from the whispers of you tellin me, I am fine!
With my legs spread wide and my back arched low,
Your stories build me up to be a Queen.
But when the sun comes up, it’s a different story you sing.
Somehow I transform into that hood-rat chick and crack fiend.
Those voices from the children you hear, are your seed!
Lost in why they can’t see santa,
Trapped in between, drive by shootings, & liquor store lootings, Wondering why they only see a man in the house at night.
In the wee hours of morning rise, they close their eyes,
Praying for a father to rescue them.
I pray for a lover of my mind and my thighs.
Wishing you could see that I decorate myself with pride.
My need of finances does not kill my creativity,
My love of community or responsibility.
You really just took me young,
Left me with your young, and I made do!
While you painted a story that is only part of the truth.
The love song you should all sang is, How I made it over!
Then take a picture of my pink thong ass and it put it on the cover!
Yes. Yes! Pucker up and kiss this lover!
Cuz every Ghetto rock star, rise of a welfare mother,
Older momma that rocks the stage with a degree,
That over-comer is me!
Singing my story, proud of food stamps and income budgeted rent.
It starts with a GED, spins into a master’s degree.
Encores with written books, movie deals and paychecks earned.
Birthed music writers, and basketball players who shoes, you buy!
In every story lives lies and truths, and I am living proof!
Yet sometimes in my mind, that blonde weave, ghetto chick
still exist and she screams with discomfort from the comments
of those who don’t understand the bunions on her feet.
Overworked and tired of the hits,
She wishes the world would just, kiss her ghetto grits!

13 thoughts on “The Ghetto Kiss

  1. I am proud to know such a great poet. You are the best and greatest. Sure wish you were still around her. We miss your inspiration. God be with you, always.

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