Printed from WriteWords - http://www.writewords.org.uk/archive/17262.asp

Untitled

by  Jordan789

Posted: Thursday, March 15, 2007
Word Count: 126
Summary: been a while, it feels like poetry isn't really spurting from any open wounds these days. Shame!




I walk through the beat,
Read me, like me?
Take a taste of me,
Sir, ma’am, it’s okay.
I’m a pretty decent guy,
I think.
That is, if you will talk to me.
Sir, ma’am, please, don’t walk
Away from me.
My skin is on fire,
Please, allow me to drink a drop of
Your water.
Sir, ma’am, I don’t want to hurt anybody,
But I do, I think.
Not with my fists or feet, guns or machete,
But with slight undercurrents, I think
I remind them of bad thoughts,
The negative man in their head who
They try to keep at bay.
The voice of someone like me,
Who’s no good for no one, anyway.
Sir, ma’am, please give me a sip of your tea?