PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

This thing is dead

I dream in Avacodo colors

I bet you didn't know that.

I am Stella, really.

It is true.

I am Stella.

I am baby child.

I am a blues singer.

My hand is a telephone, so,

talk talk talk me down and

out of this one

I am the hero in your pants,

where the river meets bare land,

you feel it. I know you do.

I am a factory worker.

I am a weaver.

I am a soft note on a hard day

I am a drummer

I use my thighs

we use our palms

and make uncorrelated music

I am a tamborine,

under an orange moon

I am Stella.

and mama says,

God dont like the white folks

Just like mama don't like peas or

jean pants

Mama can dance, ohhh, lordy she can move and she can wiggle like a

burnin string

and I'm telling you right now,

our beds are parked cars,

I swear by it.

Every night I wake up in a different parking lot,

and it's the strangest thing.

I am a french whore.

I am bastard.

I am the smiling bitch.

Our type....... we don't back down.

we bite. and hard. real hard.

I am anything I ever

wanted to be.