my heart denotes that it’s racketed.
Street owns me,
bends me to knees,
for money that touches my hand, but never reaches my pocket.
Fettered and tethered in invisible chains,
puts me on display—but never seen.
Mom hooked on crack and reefer,
allowed uncle to become my creeper.
In a haze she turned her gaze.
Wanted to be a teacher,
spent my nights daydreaming in books.
Now looking for a come up from the preacher,
reading street signs and cigarette pack promises.
Easy prey, that’s what I was.
Not enough love at home to lift me up above,
the grip of a pimp.
Need to escape.
Shooting up liquid heaven, can’t make the evade.
Crisscrossed wrist so scarred in lines,
my signs of dying to live.
I’m a commodity—an item, a purchase.
No demand--no supply needed!
But, the Johns drive by.
Buy my time and my pain is your crime.
Before embracing her affinity of writing, Shermie Rayne, had an indelible love of words. She likes to use written words to ponder while pushing back against, or relishing in the wondrous journey of life. Currently, Rayne is editing the first draft of her first completed manuscript, SKY, an upper middle-grade, epistolary-journal novel that follows a tender-hearted soul, a seventh-grade girl, Sky Jeffers, as she contemplates the challenging burden of living. http://shermierayne.wordpress.com/