deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Eastside

 
 
There is a girl up the street  
pacing the sidewalk,  
begging someone  
on the phone for help.
 
She's in hell.  Beaten.
The black on blackness
of a past  
that's been seconded with...  
 
and the press,  
and the cross,    
it hangs at her hip.
Written by Pishashee
Published
Author's Note
I live on the East side of Kansas City. I walk out my door, and there is just so much here; all the love and beauty, all the hate and despair.  I've gotten used to the gunfire... just so many reason that I take it to paper.
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