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Not rotten inside( Different seasons) by Sir T.A.E.P.S

Sir T.A.E.P.S | Jan 29th, 2020 | poetry | No Comments

Poem

They say dead on the inside
Lying alive on the outside
They say rotten to the core
Yet crispy placed in store
I’m not so bad if you’re close
My left arm is broken to let you in

Preached prayed, preacher preached
Deacon saw, deacon stole
A wife to the man in your sight
A wife who lusted what was right.
Lest I be struck blind
With my right, I’ll sign the cross
Oops my left dipped the basket
Church ain’t rotten
Those left behind are just broken

The cops aren’t corrupt
They can’t decide who to cut
The green rookies on the right
Or the morals left beaten with time
Peel the banana, help me see
I hunger to taste, I fear the ailment
Till its broken, inside may be fresh

Time is a journey that corrodes
Time is a season that ripens
Time is the budding of fruit
My skin will change each day
Your judgment varies the hour
We meet
Take a moment and look inside
Maybe I’m not rotten after all

Poet Bio

I’m Ashley. I used to dance and occasionally I try get back into poetry. The adult life hasn’t been too kind to my hobbies. If it’s a weekend I love the outdoors. It’s quite refreshing to detach from humanity, go off the grid and just have time to chat with the philosopher who’s slept beside you since birth.

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