melissaahowells
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why is some stuff precious
why is some stuff not and some got to have it all and some gots naught some folks sure be something but some not til its been bought with their soul let me tell ya let me tell ya it doesn't make any kind of sense unless you gots the gold but who does it seems to me we mostly doesn't there might be a dozen cookies out there but they that gots has eleven and we be fightin' over that little last one when is the change and the promise gonna come? when I sally forth into the gutters of my adopted home town's downtown I see so many orphans scattered like garbage with no place to settle in nor settle down its a shame an end game on the long road to misery so Many walks on by not noticin' holdin' noses over-proud heads held too high lookin' into Their picture phones sayin' words like bums and how I can hardly draw My precious breath where do They come from who do They come from... how doe They turn out that way? didn't They have a Mother/Father maybe a family once don't They know what hurtin's like why do They not offer up up some kindness... instead of lookin' the other way? then actin' Judge-like deliberately ignorin' all of them They deem less.... for me I know this aint no Mother/Father sort of life I'm an orphan but an different kinda orphan now I still gots me two brothers who don't wanna know me last and least one another too... but yet I'm as alone as a Mother-less waif there's ain't no such thing as forgivin' we're all just tryin' to dry up til its time to finally blow away its just another kind of invisible like the one I see n' feel each n' every day... it just don't make no sense how folks out here mostly ekeing out a livin' sieving a life from off the ground eatin' what only can be found and dryin' in the sun like a grape about to be a raisin its ain't just a depression but it sorta is ain't no one gots a dime to spare nor the eyes to see just how you live nor wants to be your brother/mother/father they don't got no sight for the poor let me tell ya let me tell ya it don't make no sense no, it don't make no kind of sense how all the ghosts are still above the ground barely alive yet all the misery is in plain sight. legal copyright for this poem/rant 2:51pm PST 7/20/2018 and also for this writer Melissa A Howells and also for this legally copyrighted site title Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World the grammar and punctuation and spellings are all intentional and in some quarters, wholly conversational and they aren't going change. People don't have to write the Queens' English to write and be understood. directly written to the page. edits later. Vote for this poem |
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