Bitch Squad
 The Scene...inside 
                    Private Thoughts
It's your time to consider continuing the fight to live or not.  You've already accidentally almost killed yourself, something you can fix real quick, if you make it to the hospital.  And if you make it to the hospital, what will you say?  Whose fault is it that your will to soak up and enjoy life has frailed to a thin line of hope?   It can't be your own, could it?  You could drive real slow, and possibly bleed out, then you'll never have to examine it again....

.....And then there's the way you're supposed to act.  Acceptable that is, whatever that is.  Acceptable becomes the operative word.  It becomes what drives every individual in the entire world.   It becomes what makes a friend.   It becomes sex, shoes, water, kool-aid, pop, cereal, ice cream, Tylenol, Advil, Motrin, and on and on and on.  It becomes "Pass me a Kleenex," or "Do you have a tissue?" 

          
       I'm acceptable to me.   I know what I've been through. I know why I am who I am.    You're insane!  Possibly evil even with hypocrisy lighting your background!
    
     And you drive the car with the same intensity that fuels your fear.  You blame poverty!  That damn childhood poverty! 
 
     The disease that poverty is, robbing innocent children of luxurious realities and necessities. Their creative minds turn nothing into something finding complicated ways to do simple things that the rich do with the press of a button.  The poor mother and her children thinking one day they could sit at a table in a house that is theirs and have furniture, and windows with curtains, chairs that are proper and floors that are clean, and smiles that mean good health is not a dream, but a constant factor and always an achievable goal, as long as it can be bought.   This disease that is poverty, it sickens the mind.  It makes the weak, weaker, the strong, stronger, the unacceptable, more acceptable. 
 
     Meanwhile, in the ghetto, they laugh, they taunt you.  They pick on you until you fight back.  Until you finally believe, "Yeah there is a God, but he didn't say stand there and get your ass kicked!   Or did he?"  You're so poor and tired of the beatings, you don't even know!  You just want a damn cracker with cream cheese and jelly! 
Visit DMWBooks.com
Please click the book icon or
e-mail header to view the website or purchase this book.
Essays
Darlene M. Washington
DMWBooks.com/DMW Publishing
219-292-2341 
800-268-7126