Blues is the hurt of a woman
An extraordinary human
If I could, I would tell you
I had it in my life with my mother
A hardworking and sometimes-destroyed woman
She helped me make choices
An older black woman’s expressions
Is her daughter falling in love with any young man?
Dealing with the devil
In hurt tones, we use the tongue  
Although we don’t it said in shade
The ways we get into it
Straight talking when we need to
I chose my child’s father
Choosing a man of my mother’s choices
Who was, as we sing it 
Of no answers
My man made my father look bad
It was that good
My father seemed like a piece of trash
Sitting at the top of the garbage can
My father looked like a pig
He’s my blues when I think about it
I exist in the vanity of my mind
I look in the mirror at my young face
The face my daughter carries
I know its only strength
I got it.
Am I so hurt all I do is whisper?
Is my blues dimming at each moment?
I don’t acknowledge it
I know I’m a girl with no money
Am I only dust?
I’m only made to be pushed around by everyone.
Compared to this,
As trashy as my father seems
He’s my only escape
Maybe that’s why my blues hurts
I wonder if he’s sorry
Did I make his troubles look bad?
A bed of nails
Makes the right man’s kisses
A lustful feeling