She draws on paper,
planning her revenge.
Telling about the raper,
who just about unhinged.

Sitting in the crossroads,
between life and death.
Like an outcast in modes,
not even thinking about the meth.

No she ain’t,
No she don’t.
Has an urge to paint,
even though she won’t.

Writing with power,
and people’s attention.
Wanting to devour,
anyone to mention.

Cleaning out their closets,
she digs for information.
She finds good deposits,
about their detonation.

Hiding in her office,
she starts to write.
Starting to give a glimpse,
hoping others will ignite.

Though she relied on intellect,
she has gotten so far.
She even earned some respect,
while others hide in bars.