Born with her head 
In between her
Thighs, 


She never
Slept with a cross
Every night


Never prayed 
To get her
out of this grime, 


Her skin the color
Of the sky, But 
Never Asked 
God why


He never looked
Her in the eyes, 


Always settled
For a lower class
Of Flies, 


Got her lies 
Ready for the prize;



Strode the streets
Carrying a scythe; 
Never felt safe
In her own mind,


Never felt her peace
Aligned, Always suffered 
quietly and blind,



Woke up covered
In her own vines, 
Wondered why she
Never shines,



But never asked God
Why He never
Looked her in
The eyes