I am Angry and that is ok,
and if you are threatened when I use
obscenities, peppered throughout my brain stew
then Off You fuck, back to the land of
people who care, about you, and what you do.
It is not unladylike, for I own a vagina.
And still I call you a cunt: as a rule. Should you
tell me what to do with mine. And for those who
discriminate against a human being, for who they are being,
just existing – I’ll call you a twat. Or a Prick. Or a Racist piece of shit.
I will use FUCK in the streets (and my sheets,)
until you associate your shock, your offended O mouth and
outrage, with the men making me afraid to walk
and shouting, in the first place. Pavlovian.
Because until you are able to distinguish between
a compliment and harassment, you are a dog to me.
When you touch me because I am
drunk, and dancing and smiling. No eye contact.
You shove your filthy hand between my legs
and I hear the same story with ad lib’d details from
the women I love? Hundreds. Thousands.
I will take that hand and break
your fingers from their sockets until
you cannot sign your name .