PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

free fall


we all fall down,

stumble around,

like rats in a cage.

Disposable,

expiraments,

our lives are not our own.

We are called thug.

" fuck boys"

"whore"

slut"

it makes my gut churn,

like the butter my great grandma made.

on the plantation.

Before free fall.

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

words_r_power

CNA, EMT

View all poems →

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.

Log in to leave a comment.