In honor of National Poetry Month here’s a short one.
Stop asking me to fetch things, do work for you, dress up, smile pretty, play nice.
Constantly, constantly, constantly…then the nerve…ask for a hug.
I’m not. I won’t. I shan’t.
I’m not your bitch, bitch.
So kiss my grits fo’ eva, cause I don’t give no kind of damn.
The soil beneath my feet will get a closer look than you. As I strut off into the humid night.
Booty eating my pants is all you’ll see. So memorize that. Bitch.
I need rest.
So come tuck me into bed, fetch me a sandwich, and leave me be.
Tomorrow coin toss
to see whose turn to be