Dear, Gram, Kilo, Coke, and Love

When asked who do I love, I can’t help but resurrect my mother,
She was a Schizophrenic sex-worker, gospel singing, God-fearing, loving woman,
Her abusive husband broke beer bottles over her temple,
My mind cannot comprehend your words, it will not tolerate genocidal love,

Blame me for answering your question hesitantly, but I was taught love honestly,
I remember being taught lessons about Jesus protecting prostitutes,
Choose to love my mother, as I would love single mother’s stripping,

This might be confusing, but lets put everything in perspective,
My mother was caught high in the back alley, pigs forced her to sing,
They asked her for a ride, though they knew a night downtown would be strike 3,

You ask me do I love you, yet haven’t comprehended love is my bondage,
As my father’s hands wrapped around my mother’s throat, I was drawing pictures of Pretty Woman,
I serve to protect and cherish, fuck and never rush,

The love I have for you, cannot be held by or gifted to anyone else,
Lessons I learned growing up consisted of Dear, Gram, Kilo, Coke, and Love,


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