consequence of tradition

consequence of tradition

since i was a girl a little lonely
my fantasy was a gun as it de-thrones me
sort of like a jesus formed thorn halo
breaking my petite knees as it unloads
down to my thighs and vagina oh so slight
but i became a firewoman and my dream died

..

it was a night, like any other night
dressed for the clubs gathered by the street life
busting past the urchins lurking from the curbs
kicking old cans still filled with drifting slurs
with our dress we co-designed for the times
and phones prepared for what we just might find
i step over one bum, two bums then none
the same pattern on the same street of love
each one spurting death, hiding themselves
in the open, not to freeze from this hell
dancing and sweating 'til i hurdle mess
damn, i spill a drink on my purple dress
uptight and annoyed i force/fight off my friends
walk home alone, on a night much like the end
i don't usually smoke yet i still light one up
huffing and puffing my way back to my hut
tripping over the nights shade from a hushed moon
i chuckle soon to note the truth that busts loose
a shaggy man sits on my hips pinned down
he waves a gun in my face and clicks loud
covers my mouth, puts the gun between my legs
removes his hand and throws away my dress
"do you have a cigarette" seeps form my breath
with a hand punching bruises on my breasts
hole through and into hole, one hole pampered
puckered with the damp camper inside me amped up
stammering i feel like an item, no a bruise
a dream that died and came alive with no move
one too many touches, once to often
brushed with the reality of ones soon coffin
natural impulses pulsating obvious neglect
now we are the true entrants of direct
the gritty real blood, the barking of asphyxia
the seamen pouring on the gravel beads like tar
the moon enveloping a zooming pulse from the stars
no one to help, no one to heal the scars
I lie like shakespears from broken flowering
Trying to think something profoundly towering
though only mischievous murmurs emit
followed by humor fading before submit..

that soft subtle blank submit.. dress on ground
fading away behind me, body left unfound
is this the end for my tattered flesh
or will i be remembered for a dream i dreamt

no more yielding, i'm sewn from dusk to sun
as a hoe for hoe and that is one to grow on