Caucasian Foster Girl

Caucasian foster girl with braids,
And stories,
Many stories,
Both big and small,
With no parents,
No drugs,
No hatred,
Only love,
For humanity,
After years,
Her sanity,
Still in tact, demonstrated in her tears,
And also-
Her fears,
Of fading into the black –
Life of new discord and old confusion.

She sticks with,
The other children,
Aside from,
The deadly calm,
That traps its victims,
In arid palms.

She lends her eyes,
To frozen windows,
Tapping the glass,
Counting cars that pass,
19 now,
The age of she,
Out of school,
Completely free.


My people love me,

They tell me things I want to hear,

They give me back rubs when my structure aches,

They offer me drinks that my stomach can’t take,

They make me feel whole again.

My people care for me,

Their advice resembles prattle about being free and unbridled,

They talk my enemies down and cast a harsh hand when needed,

They still accept me when their relational suggestions aren’t heeded,

They pronounce my individuality.

My people know me,

They compliment my stupid chooses,

They guide me in their direction,

They hold me when I cry,

They prate on about their hatred for man,

They embrace me when men avoid me,

They make me feel smart.

My people are idiots,

They avoid fruitful traditions,

They try to mix me with stupidity,

They toggle with their beliefs,

They’re completely passionate about the temporary with no insight of permanent,

They speak kindly to idiocy and harshly to truth,

They know only of opinion and nothing of fact,

They strive to keep me single and miserable so they can feel higher about themselves,

They can’t enjoy the silence,

And are incredibly dense,

Those people are toxic.


He was unsure about her troubles,

He ran up his daughter’s walls crashing into redundancy and expectations,

No discoveries nor new news,

Simply journal entries about boys and school.

He ransacked her comfort zone, piercing her resistances to speak,

And once she did, she choked,


She choked on the words that the monster said,

While remembering him crouching over her as she bled,

On her bed,

Demonic episodes of rape play back in her head,

And spill from her mouth,

Her father holds her shoulders as she beings to shout,

Father mumbles “Let it out, let it out”

As if she could keep it in,

Troubles invisible and unseen,

She just turned fifteen,

Her father thinks of it obscene,

She thinks of her unclean,

He tells her she is thinking silly,

She told him uncle was always touchy feely,

A characteristic she’ll now forever hate,

Father beyond irate,

Rushes to his room,

Under the bed,

Grab his safe,

Inputs his code off from the top of his head,

Grabs his gun,

He wants him dead,

Daughter chases after him screaming “we could just report him instead”,

Father wants him dead,

He runs from the house,

To the car,

Opens the door,

Gets in, ignition, presses the pedal to the floor,

Minutes pass, four,

He opens the door,

Runs to uncle’s house bashes on the door,

It opens, no words, 3 shots the neighbors heard,

Uncle soaked with tears,

He fears…

What God may edict,

Death comes slow, reckoning comes quick,

He fades away, father drives home,

Goes to his daughter and tells her her worries are gone.

A Walk

And as she walked through the tunnel,

She fell victim to biology’s restraints,

Fumbling about the edges of earth’s banks,

Weariness and warmth,

With and without.

And as she stops,

She approaches euphoria,

After witnessing her mind,

…Crumbled at dawn.

Cool pavement of endless roads,

Palliate the agony of journey,

Pacify the hunger of strenuous pursuits,

Mentally degrade into dust and soot,

Before she finds her destination,

She will bow like the road ahead does to the sky,

Bend, break, wither, and cry,

Her goals glitched by illusions of the eye,

She fails.