Remember working at the liquor store
. where I wished my voice away
. wanting not to wrestle those
. drunk bums rich bastards
. buying bigger bottles of booze.
Sore throat sick a week since Sunday
. speechbox cracked and quivering
. with a cough cough cough
. it came back crippled limping
. cringing through my cigarettes.
I used to vent a velvet air of richer tones
. a dandy deft delivery of
. something sweet inside me
. but I killed it with a dirty wish
. and now I croak veracity.
This voice I have to fight with now
. does not do so prettily
. but starts and blurts obscenities
. tones that try to turn the fractured
. world. I want to watch it burn.
Clicky for the full experience:
Don’t you dare
. grab our brethren
. grab our freedom
. grab our pussies
from where we see you loudly lying
with your face tweeting under our feet
. hide the asshole
. hide the stains
. hide the blood.
We will wear red boots and
we declare that orange is our enemy
. eat the morsels
. eat the marrow
. eat the midnight
We suck the bones of Justice
in the decaying flesh of the Patriarchy
. we who mourn
. we who dance
. we who fight
we are the women in black.
A seagull shat on my arm
from a few hundred feet up.
My white coat is “water-proof”
but it still catches stains like:
coffee, espresso, lattes, chai,
London Fog, and bird shit.
“Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi!”
The PGE man squawks at me.
“Do I look like I want to be
said ‘hi’ to?” squawked at?!
“I was just saying ‘hi’ and
I was just being NICE.”
“That’s street harassment
And it is NOT OK!” I say.
I was on the phone earlier
about my sexual assault.
PGE Man does not know I am
a loaded gun, a touchy trigger.
This walking open sore
wants not to be seen.
Shit. I knew I shouldn’t’ve
bought this bright raincoat.