Nah, nah, nah
It’s a shit-hole,
but it’s my shit-hole, get me?
Ain’t exactly somethin’ to be proud of,
‘n I get that,
but it ain’t like I’m parsin’ prose like poems,
now is it?
Imma just leave this unrelated image here for you to reflect on.
’s called juxtaposition.
‘n the ladies love it–
(if by ladies I mean people
who appreciate literary
comparison devices,
such as juxtaposition)
“’n I’m outside talkin’ ‘n drinkin’ ‘n enjoyin’ myself,
when this guy, who I admit I’d been friendly flirtin’ with,
–that’s the kind of flirt that’s for fun,
ain’t the kind you take home–
[some people play the game,
better than they sell themselves.]
{enjoy for what it is, right?}
well he shoves his whole hand down the back of my pants,
bare cheek to fingers, he shoves ’em right between,
‘n tries to finger me right there in front of everyone.
I grab wrist firmly in hand,
hopefully bruisin’,
“You’re done.”
‘n I don’t see him again.
Imma just leave this unrelated image here for you to reflect on.
’cause half the fun of this is the sayin’ that goes on
between
the lines, after all.
‘n you know?
that reminds me of this time…
–parsin’ prose like poems–
I was off gettin’ seconds in the cafeteria,
on the way back, this young woman is walkin’ backwards,
talkin’ to her friends,
she trips and falls into me,
honest to god,
her hand flies to my crotch,
managing to cup the whole assembly
/I never said I was a large man
in hand.
She looks up, we both look down,
she moves her hand ‘n walks away without a word.
*ain’t exactly somethin’ to be proud of*
honestly, it’s just a stitchin’ of things,
what you see in them seams,
you put there.
I’m in his bed,
‘n I don’t know if it’s him or the $4 dollar tall boys,
but I ain’t a functional sundial, if you catch my poorly thought out euphemism.
but what I’m doin’ is doin’ for him.
what I’m doin’ is doin’ for him.
–parsin’ prose like poems–
makin’ nothin’ into somethin’
forcin’ it.
‘n you didn’t,
you didn’t think I had a point, did you?
