WTH?

WTH?


What is childhood anyway?
More like “child in the hood.”
At the ripe old age of eight
While most kids hopped or skipped
She moved with a gapped gait
He knew when and how to get it.
Momma must be running late.

He must have had a small ego
Such a small ego,
so small even a child could satiate his libido.
Hope was fostered and pale
On my streets the reverends preached hell ,
damnation, then wailed
their sins on children.
In Hope’s hood, priests took confessions ,
Then wasted them on the bellies of babies.

Where is Hope today?
Living out the epitome of a name given from the one who left shame,
Or living in the trenches of my streets with that hero in her veins?
As for me, I AM right here!
Where would I go?
Where could I go?
Childhood.
Titles given to identify the weak from the strong
Ain’t no way a woman could live through that for long.
Don’t be put off by anger, Almighty is real.
But the devil wears collars and cloaks all year!
Holy rollers looking for a devil in a red suit.
Believing white is in,
and pure
and black is boot.

“Adults?” hmph, grown ass kids
Talkin how “ kids too grown!”
No help to children, except to leave ‘em alone.
Alone to tend to the needs of men.
Men strapped with, pedi sin
Oh how the saints go marchin in.

I only ever wanted a place to live, food to eat.
To purge my thoughts from naïve,
Get back to Eden and curse out Eve
Snatch dominion from Adam and make him leave!

Many turn lesbos after that,
But no, no, no, not me
Always did learn fast and easy.
Like a magician, could always turn tricks.
Subjected to stuff the religious call sick.
Oh but when the saints go marchin in,
lock they doors and sip,
Hide in their closets,
drop to their knees and gulp prick.

Don’t tell me nothing about a child, cuz you just preachin’
And once you start , I can’t hear you speakin.
Show me! Show me! Let me see how one should
Maintain the pure, innocence, and good,
of a child’s hood.