#MeToo

I set out this evening, head in the clouds Watching streaked skies, smelling magnolias... Then suddenly cut to the quick, Clipped by you, anonymous sir. Your ideals stab me like Fat-filled needles to my flapjack glutes- Lipids that would pad the smack Of your slobbering, salacious lips Your words fogging the orange-y pinks, Dung beetles bombing my beloved trees. And this is what I ruminate When you open your mouth to speak, sir: How can I be at once worthy of regard And also worthy of reproach And also worthy of your hand Upon my "less than luscious ass?" Am I not just me in cups of B And 30 inches of slightly swayed hips? Am I not just me with frizzy locks that curl and kink, Unpolished nails chewed to the quick but sometimes left to grow? Am I not just me: sister, daughter, friend Not "whore" or "bitch" or "slut" Am I not just me: voice in the void? Not "daaayum" or "suga'" or "'xuse me, ho!" I don't care to be your fantasies come to life, sir- Nor a target on the clay-caked, potholed, glass-shattered sidewalk That I tread, never knowing if (when) I snap If you might slap back.... Your vinegar tongue is not fit To address me by my Christian name... That must be why instead you shout "I'm talking to you, cunt!" as I walk away...