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Muringo, You are a Special Girl


The Special Girl

Your classroom is dark
The witches are girls
Hissing at your bright laughter
They hate your spark that reflects
on their torn and stained souls
They charge at you
Wrestle you to the ground
And snatch the light from your eyes

Your world is now foggy
But you try to smile
Surely they must know
that you want to be friends
She responds in a grimace
Sharpening all your pencils
Like hope into trash
Puts your sharpener and eraser
with your future into her pocket
Fiercely rips your confidence with your shorts
This is not school
It’s the home of the devil

They say that you are ugly
You can’t use the toilet
Slapping the back of your head
And cutting into your palm
Your teacher is blind
and can’t see the mob
Stoning you with hatred
Your spirit is broken
Your neck hangs limp
You can’t lift your head
But your mother
has heard your whimper
Those who love you
have heard your whisper.

Muringo,
You are a special girl.
You are a great musician.

BT

 
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Posted by on July 23, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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Bloody Burdens


Aunt Betty breaks into a phony smile

You hug the façade and kiss the lie

At 40 you’ve met her ten times

Her words cannot create a bond

She grips your hand tightly

and says your skirt is too short

Her Lord has been faithful

But its’ you who must find her son a job

You sell cakes from your kitchen

Her ignorance demands a date in an office

You are late and need the bathroom

Aunt Betty’s age has the right of goodbye

You strain in this tango of falsehood

 

Uncle John is the Head-of-the-Family

His duty a five minute call

He laughs at your baking ‘cottage industry’

And boasts of his new Mercedes Benz

Your tongue tastes the vomit

But asks for more poisoned counsel

On the sixth minute he ends the talk

of your broken right leg

Your son shouldn’t have been shot at Christmas

Uncle John will not leave his treat on the beach

The Head-of-the-Family is pissing in your face

Instead of turning your back, you open your mouth

Unable to cut off a toxic bloodline

 

You can’t hear her

You can see her clearly

Her mouth gestures violently like a criminal

as she riffles through your desk

Lucy your daughter slaps your hand

when you reach for the papers

Suited men hunch over the table like bears

the day the nurse does not return

An over salted stew signals a harsh world

Where you see the dentist when you cry

The music is loud and the laughter louder

A thirst inducing racket behind your locked door

In the morning Lucy laughs at you

through wisps of wicked smoke

When she turns

You raise the hammer to her head

And strike

As many times as she made you cry

BT

 
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Posted by on March 21, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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