My great grandma got murdered
Eighteen years of age
Left behind a baby
And a lot of rage
Grandma got the first round
Momma got it twice
When it was brought upon me
It felt like red hot ice
Looking back I see her
And what we could have been
All of us together
Were it not for him
I wonder if she loved him
Though I guess that would be worse
But I hope one day to meet him
And kill my generational curse.
(My great grandma was a waitress/bartender at a port in Georgia, just like in the song "Brandy You're a Fine Girl" but her sailor didn't make empty promises. Her sailor killed her.)
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Sad Poetry for Sad Hours
PoetryA collection of my poetry, which tends to be sad. (TW: death, murder, childhood trauma, vague suicidal ideation)
