She haunts me at 6 a.m.
Ghetto girl,
who defies comparisons
to goddesses.
She ruins my morning
with her glassy brown eyes,
lips and cheeks
like pastel sunset.
Smile that stretches for years.
I can still smell her hairspray,
feel the fabric of her clothes.
The male genitals
boys drew over my face
on pictures I took with her.
Her beauty trapped
in glossy memories
of her childhood glory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem