Female she-eple going at mastah-work,

fighting each other-fitting-the tailor made red gown out in the town,

acting like hired but tired clowns,

Winning the frowns of Whyte people trying to fit their crowns…

A black sister going against her fashion insisted, pink hair resisting bossy fatherom -thinking she overstepped and resisted..





she assisted the system that controlled trolled and fisted her people

and gifted her a persona

to gain a following of symetrical cartridges that were living infected off and on

Of and gone


it injected her lips and they asses – petty Invictus in intrinsical masses filled with Botox fucking carcases growing and blooming like cocoon pertruded musical calluses…

Fighting actresses


lacking transmission of true messages,

carrying in they bellies illuminated fallacies, gargoyles made of rock-massacre enjoying the fifteen minutes of fame, followed by an entourage of lame and shame tamed tranced flocking auto tuned future vomiting nemesis.

The killuminated outdated princesses go about they bags supposedly accumulating fortunes and one hitter wondering glitter.

Shine and litter happy- piñata filler, they go.

Amassing Fame to OutKast our people’s madness and fed upness within the system that’s outnested.

To thee sista I proclaim and beg

Give it up

and rest it-

the turning up in your party scene is abusive reclusive-discursive vane and sedated- by -being outdated.

the black and blue stretch of a street war is far fetched wack and relentless

To what I do tell

going against each other is wickedly infected with going against the truth of our ancestry and yourselves, against the truth oF our felt and well-being of our girls;

the minors, the mirrors who are looking up to us and try to find a place, don’t be a rapping robot rebel and re-verse.

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