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these slums were built for her
she has to answer for innocence and apparent ignorance
of cracked concrete and how hard it is
hard like the bones of crossed arms, like callous
soles, toes spread because a pirouette is worthless
in a fight.
keeps her balance, shoulders hunched
back to a wall carelessly defaced
graffiti--dark-- finds its way to her lips
carelessly curled.
bemused at her tutu --a sign carried around the waist,
that says she doesn't belong to the streets
she was only born on them.
disrupted insights
Why do i do this?
take these pictures then leave
she wanted a friend
an hour at most
couldn't understand what she wanted
more like I refused too
scrawling on a wall to stop the pain
mother says it's her life now
like thats an excuse
father drives her around town
concerned as he should be
it used to be fun for her
she wore a smile for the whole world
when i go home will they remember
the crazy tourist who came
strange stories they told all about disapline
working their child hard for cash
do they all get a piece of the life
with my absence i'm not helping
she'll grow up in a path unchoosen
look back one day, remember the moment
when she stood outside the practice hall
a stranger taking her picture
now they all take photos
these strangers who love her
but the stage beckonds and bends her will
still a monster after all this time
if only an hour
to scrawl on the wall and
see the tourist again
Deep, riddled staring.
Streets scribbled, deathly.
Sweet little fairy.
plastic princess!
little raven ness in the distance.
plastic thoughts,
served cold
with an iron taste.
home grown matrimony,
if only she was lonely
on the outside.
she dies every night
in the dreams she has.
she calls out
- but no lifeguard listens.
she is lost,
she is dead.
locked in humanities prison.
though will she ever find hope?
in the oats she sows.
I hope so,
every child needs inspiration.
on the inside...
see pavement & their cracks
gravel loose beneath toes -
a lego like pain.
build it bob, build me a new
life full of fireworks.
colorful? only in too-toos.
excuse my doodling hands;
they lose control when i
just let go...
she'll scrape skies
one day
climb from her box
to embrace fire escape dance partners
and do knotted widelace pirouettes for miles
across phone line horizons.
in step
to the beat of a million feet hitting
concrete in unison
she's cheek to cheek with gridlock
arms stretched
like city blocks
tiptoeing through burroughs
to window shop for a spot
where the music stops
http://i45.tinypic.com/ftzcsp.jpg
the B-girl ballerina that just wanted to be a girl
study in Julliard some day and see the world
but this Ghetto is her home, nothing like Warsaw
concentrating in this camp--tired and forlorn
war torn streets that flourish under sombre lights
Gunshots are the percussive backdrops, no sleep some nights
she was made for this like the graffiti woven into concrete seams
she was made for this like 110th street deferred dreams
she was made for this like the other burnt sunbeams
she was made for this like the models that become addicts
learning how to recycle, reduce and reuse with a little practice
Black girl lost that some white man would find attractive
Black girl lost that won't be subservient and civil
Black girl lost: the focal point of our candlelight vigil
between Ghana & Washington Heights what a sorrowful plight
days so dark can dim a future that looked so bright
the urban melting pot went to rehab
heard its trying to get it self off rocks
what'd you give me the morphine on the shelf for Doc?
and Gil-Scot Heron said the revolution wouldn't be televised
the baby that had a baby stands there full of strenght and pride
outlived a misogynist thuglife era and held her ground
it was "Freethinkers" like Trent Lott that held her down
move over Janis Joplin let this prove as evidence
you've just been slapped by the New Black Feminist