i live (but why?)
and constantly cover these hurts
these blames
with a whisper of forever
riding high
upon remorse
this shame is-
so heavy
to speak the
way i talk
and walk the
way i trot
i am the same
as the tyxans,
drawling
for the field hand
to
git up and feed the horrrses
i am the same
as the suthunas
who still say (still bray)
the offensive word "niiiiigros"
and i am the same
as the christians
who still claim
that jesus christ will
save my
cinder black
soul
i am the same
as the children
and teenagers
who cannot
go a word
without a
like
or a
yeah
or a
gunna
or a
day without a joint
i am balled up
on the crumpled paper
that bares the faults
of my birthplace
and the apparent faults
of my own person
the question, this burning
ulcer
screams inside of me
am i not allowed my
own mistakes and
own brew
of
nastiness?

i shall NEVER
sew fast enough
to leave
the brand of my mother place behind
and wear nothing
but MY OWN
pitiful identity

as the gods
find it funny
that i am
so misrepresented
by the
HILARIOUS
title.

i shall NEVER
cast aside
these
eternal truths
as
too short trousers

of course not.
for the ghost of these thoughts
shall awaken
and haunt my name....
america, america,
girl,
why are you ashamed
to bear this name?
and flowing forth
from depths
of sewage green,
i bear this
fleeting grin
to hide
the
growl
of frustration