Time Biding the Poem by GNB

Time Biding the Poem by GNB


i say one’s physical appearance only bides time. for all that one is, is really on the inside. In the spirit of things on some top shelf shit, only for the look, never for the taste. and what is beneath is the truth. and in this case i call it a character flaw. flawed deception. and his words were empty like hallelujah to a non believer. and I don’t believe in you sir. texting me back cause your girls in the room saying have a nice night young lady. when you just phucked my back out last week. tried to pull the down comforter over my eyes as you tried slowly phucking me to death in the beginning, and no wonder you always insisted on us phucking in the dark. cause you never wanted to share my gaze and probably couldn’t handle it. and like i told you i shall text til i feel better. and that sir is apart of my healing. now i will write like word vomit projecting you up and out of my belly. liar. and you coward i should’ve known all along when you shared that story, couldn’t even save those children you were paid 28 bones an hour to protect, so how could i ever expect you to protect me in any way? you coward, who instead of not standing 6 feet 2 inches against systematic violence in a residential treatment facility, was found lying petrified in a fetal position. and you shamed yo self trembling, all out, desperate spilling red roses out of hands, let them smear ass with shit to your face. and you thought you was smooth cause you gained financially from those children’s suffering. and oh the funniest shit is that civil law suite you mentioned that you and your coworkers were going to file for your pain and suffering. tell me sir, tell me again who’s child is left behind still suffering? and you coward who with your silence allowed those children to be victimized with horrendous acts of violence domestic, sexual, substance, vigilante style suffering against those children. with wide eyes wide, i sat in horror, disbelief that a living being could be so passive with the suffering of others, yet how could i expect you to understand any suffering i was feeling. and that suffering sir you have within. as you recalled a story about that young boy under 18, being courted by his therapist, raped. the pictures they snapped of each other kissing one the beach, under the moon light, and all you could do was shake your head at it. little boy trapped in that phucking big body! you punk dick fallacy. you ain’t no leader. no more worthy of the space taken up in the belly of glutenous capitalist’s. and i wish to obliterate your lack of self-respect with a wash board. scrub you away, the impurities sir. and i admit the way your physical appeared made me feel safe at first and then when you opened your phucking mouth i felt a since of silence, embarrassment, squeamish that i even feigned over you. you are no different sir than the slave masters that sold Africans like beasts. and you sir are a cowardly beast instead you smile perpetuating the same losses. and i expected you to care that i cared, for what? time biding, biding my time, and thank goodness for poems and words. -Gracie

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