Truth
As the clock ticks towards that final hour
some may wish for sweet words in place of sour
but I do not live in an ivory tower
perverting my view
paid for with the proceeds from
a million dollar modeling contract
for in today’s world the value of
what a woman writes depends on how pretty
is she who wields the pen
I’ve been bruised and beaten by reality
for far too long to sing a bullsh*t song
I do not deign to drape myself
in a shapeless white designer dress
that would double for a sheet
worth enough money to provide food to eat
for a hundred famished families
like mine as a child for months
as I recite empty idealistic fantasies
to end another loathsome year of hate and fear
Though such poetry may sound pleasant to the ear
what many people want to hear
I write what is true not what will please
no flowery fictions to set souls at ease
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