poetry

Seasoned

sit-haiiro-artist-9

It’s what they say and how they say it, that gets their point across,
saucy, vinegar, garlic, but
barely 20, young Girl
and your life and attitude ,
are too salty.
It’s end of Winter,
and you wear love, like a coat off the rack,
tag still hanging.
Tucking, with no luck, too steal heart’s,
trending,
on to the next new banging.
Others seek familiarized, fits.
While talking behind your back, laughing, joking, egging you on,
watching your life turn too shit.
Spring has sprung, lip gloss and brighter colors worn,
As you’re armed, ready for the same ole kind of fun.
Never even noticing, even the weather breaks,
when the last, Season’s done.
Like an alley cat,
you’ll do tricks for snacks,
then angrily, pose like your overreacting,
cause you fell,
for the same games,
Lacking confidence, self-worth and control,
Girl, you should be ashame.
All I can say, better wake up quickly young Girl,
learn how to act,
realize from
all the seasonings used,
Doesn’t make you a spice rack.
You still have time,
but you better use for more then a technique too
blow,
a bunch of different minds.
Since Spring has sprung and “they’re” all gone,
notes say, you’ve cum 178 times.
Obviously, your mentor,
is there prentending, grinning saying you’re sweet,
pimping you out,
for personal gain, like you’re a dog in heat.
She introduces you,
too,
two new suitors, at a time.
Don’t you see, until you’re ran down and through, just like streets,
while she lives, vicariously off your prime.
She’s old, playing on your heart and lost mother’s role,
she’s had her life, and many kid father episode’s,
but you’re so smart,
then gain back, your own control.
Oh, young girl it makes no sense,
go home,
you have kids to feed.
All that’s out there, are a bunch of sleuth,
flashing money, and teeth,
Before long,
they’ll plot to rob you,
of all your youth,
due too, all your speed.
What a bummer, its almost Summer and you’ve went nowhere fast,
just a bunch of clever talk and giving up your ass.
Clothing scarce barely there,
as you try harder,
in this season,
too be seen.
As all those relationships you want so bad, work
because they utilize,
as a team.
Wake up young girl, you’re shallow as this world,
For too much salt, may be
the reason,
you get into so many quarrels.
Stop calling the men clowns,
narrow it down,
before you fall harder,
than your own morals.
In your falls,
Autumn rises, as you vow to stay alone.
Til your walls,
get that call that a friend from last winter, wants to bury his bone…

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Poetry Lesson By Tamara Moore
Thinker on the Loose
Copyright © 2017

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2 thoughts on “Seasoned

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