Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
Daddy wasn't there.
Mommy was never home.
A neighbor had to do her hair,
too young to do her own.
I've seen it happen once
and twice and thrice before,
the streets that raised a little girl
and turned her into a whore.
She grew up to be sassy
fire-eyed, quick-tongued, & witty.
She allowed her womb to swell with life
when he told her she was pretty.
So she never drove from Philly
or flew to Florida
and the only trains she had ever seen
were the ones men ran on her.
She prayed a silent prayer before
and cried an inside hurt,
so sad because she was convinced
her vagina defined her worth.
Written by L. E. Colston II
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