Real MAG MARCH 2016 | Page 5

#REALMAGATL'S POETRY OF THE MONTH A Normal Kind Why does she never do right? My mama, its nearly everyday I can’t take it Too young to drug, yet I’m engulfed in liquor No remorse, Does she even care? My body, so weak, fragile Toes webbed, frog like My head swindles freely, Hanging on, My stomach growls thunderously. Nothing more than toxic distillation, trickling my way Doesn’t she know I’m in here? I kick, hit, nothing Nothing changes. I can tell I wont make it My heart beats SLOWER 5 Proof Copy: Not optimized for high quality printing or digital distribution