Here. (is) Her.

The south tried to teach me that being pretty…..I had one game.
Money.
Brains don’t matter.
I must be crazy.
I’m good for one thing – To look at.
To touch.
To keep quiet.
But oh, you peasants
Don’t you know
The truth
Isn’t that you were the whitest
In a doctrine
Of the you and I are in.
You caught lessons so old and thin
You never asked why
You felt any of that for.
Just a lousy I told you so
Hope to see you grow
The thought of this misery
Is the next alternative
To the life you were destined for.
Is here.
Mystical

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