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