She Said She Was Not a Lady

Lady-days fought by Lola over Layla

    Cinnamon swirls span the girl out of favour

She was more than a woman to me and my kind

       Mama Moral a mythology measured by my manic mind

She took broth to the streets,

                                                     fed up and fed down,

issued fresh sheets

         I can’t take the memories, the trinkets,

                                                                            the Knick-knacks

back with me

A slave to the rhythm, drop tunes, so a hoarder I’ll never be

                     But dirty is as dirty does, never need to paint my finger nails again

Thread bare, forum rules, dissent is meant to cure cruelty’s blues

           Black bass, let me cut in, smash the last bottle, carve a vicious circle into my chin

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