PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It was not too long ago where I slit my skin, and took 30 tablets of aspirin. Haha wasn’t that fun. I mean after being f*cked in the unpleasant area and all. I did what I had to do for survival…Yeah call this bit=h a sl=t or better yet call me a c*nt. Spot me $20 and maybe I’ll make you come to the next level.



Teeny years was cute, but fu=k the past the present and fu=k you. Try to understand all the mental psychological aspects of my life point of view.

There on the pier by the chilly winds, and cold water. A place I called, “Escandalo” or maybe plain old place to get some sexual pleasure. My name was Sony. I used that name to get around. Sh=t, when it came to hardcore f*cks, I wore the crown. There was this one character that needed some play, but I was the jack of all trades. I blew off $15, because by the end it wasn’t looking pretty. I walked up and down the streets, like predator looking for something good to eat. I mean I heard all about the STDs and HIV and how abstinence is better than trying anything.

But life is a hustle and money don’t grow on trees, so you shut the fu=k up about life, when you don’t know what life on the streets is. I slept in parks and abandoned cars. I usually stayed at places where I worked, you know, to see if I could spot my regulars and new rookies. I was a mother-fu=king addict, who passion was Bacardi 151 and a person, back in those days who didn’t give a f*ck…I was young, but never will I consider myself to be a thug. I just hung out with the characters who plagiarized love for another. I was with my crew; we rolled in deep, well just my cousin and me.

We met a couple of famous people in our time; just the one’s who made a chapter in our life. There was “el frio” the softest person we ever met, and the one who lead me to a dungeon of disappointment. The man who looked like “Clinton” ran like a b*tch, because he thought someone was spying on our business. Central Park was cold, and these two b*stards that day ruined my cousin and I ghetto high, so we didn’t bother them again. Three fu=kers in Orchard beach tried to handle us, but we left them with an inerasable memory.

The pier, blah, blah, blah…what else do you want to hear? We did our thing, and met some interesting people from Italy, Egypt, Mexico, and that person who blessed us with stamps on 69th street.

Yeah, I guess it’s one of those you had to be there thing, but the pier is a chapter in my life. The pier is not all good, but is not all that bad. It lead me to other situations off the pier, as you already read. Just stay away from “el frio,” Clinton,” “Central Park,” and that “LL Cool J” wannabe on Christopher Street. Other than that, you’ll live like a queen or king.



B.T.F. Hold Up!