Netflix and Chill.

He said netflix and chill but it’s
bordering on the edge of villainous
the way his hand creeps up my thigh
when I’m trying to watch a film and this
boy needs to learn right from wrong,
he’s been listening to all the worst songs
about girls with itsy bitsy g-string thongs.
As though the size of their underwear
somehow dictates the ease with which
you’re filthy paws can scratch and itch,
as though the wish to spend time in your company
to some bullshit societal contract binds me.
The blinding ignorance of your assumption is blinding me,
friend zoned is not a valid complaint,
she can probably smell the fedora taint
of entitlement in your Y chromosome war paint.
Face up to the fact that nobody owes you
any part of their body, self, life, “these ho’s” who
aint loyal, Dear john, I will close you
down, is this what you have honestly grown to.
Like.

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