antagonistically I am alive

Languish is a two laned road

Misogyny be my name and my role
Pride be my form

The sins of my brothers and my sisters
they be here no more
When my blood rises from the dead
Ebonics will overcome phonics And our lives will be spared

I am done playing politics
done being your diplomat
if you want the olive branch go get it yourself

I am done acquiescing to your decisions and demands
I am prepared to throw up my hands
All I want is to be left alone with my kin
All I want is for my diction to not define who I am
All I want is for peace not to be left a dream

We as a whole are taught that dreams can become reality
That america is a country created and shaped by our thoughts
Yet our reality is becoming nothing more than a nightmare
Someone tell me who thought of this?
How can we turn our reality from the nightmare it has become into our dreams
let us be honest it was never a place for my people
But since we are here can we not claw each others throats out and get back to the problem at hand?

I am barely one millimeter tall
dragging my body limp across
the sidewalk and I try my best not to make eye contact any contact
with those glaring flashlights rising from the dead off their hard-helmeted heads
I'm still trying to keep mine twisted at one-hundred-eighty degrees
but stuck in the bulls-eye of a man-made hurricane    I wouldn't mind hearing a snapping neck any neck.

One of the hell-bent helmets removes itself to reveal a heavy-set sweating neck
the ******* a skateboard and I recoil synonymously at the sight of too many men too tall
it's seventy-five out but it's beginning to feel negative twenty degrees
I walk as quickly as my frost-gnawed legs allow me to move across
this soup line but they're feeding the wrong kind of hungry who wait for their ***** coins to flip heads
to see who goes first to play tackle-the-red-flags with little girls and the rules don't prohibit contact.

I can't imagine these helmets in human form not even when they ask for my number to keep in contact
I think of the time I was sent home for possessing tempting shoulders and a somehow sultry neck
all I see are claw machines and me, a come-here-doll, resisting the balance being ripped from my head
I forget about pacing myself on the ledge of this concrete just so I can stand tall
I hear the voice of an ex-friend who moved across
town tell me that you "just have to be smart", but you don't learn morals from earning degrees.

I'm thinking about the degree
of which it would mean if I were to reverse the prey predator roles and dare to make contact
blood sharing the same bed with safety sparks a flame across
my brain, I don't want to imagine trembling while holding this pocket knife over the apples of their necks
but I am a no choice girl because every time my mother calls she warns me that I'm not tall
enough to even chop the branches from their heads.

The fifth one in line yells something at me about giving head
silently I measure the trajectory of getting the hell out of this corner the exact angle the degree
what lie is there to tell that is tall
enough that they won't be able to see the panic beneath my contacts
I swat away the possibility of nearby lips staining bruises onto my neck
I keep the idea of my big-knuckled boyfriend like pepper-spray in my back pocket waiting at the street across.  

Hey *****, you seem a little cross
you shouldn't dress the way women dress to turn heads
one day you might make a man break his neck.
It finally began nearing seventy-five degrees
again as I fumbled through my contacts
dialed the first boy I knew, doubling as the tallest.  

I'm on the acceptance stage of mourning the fact that I'll never be tall enough to come across as mean when I come in contact
with non-human beings willing to burn holes in the back of girls heads at four-hundred degrees, who put their ****** trophies on the back-burner as long as it means getting some neck.

There is pretty
bubbling
a faulty science experiment
on the verge of the most compliant shade of peach
blanketing itself even beneath the dirt
of my fingernails.

Daddy can you open this?
Because spoonful’s of
Mommy can’t
Never sat well
on the tip of your tongue
nor the bottom of your stomach.

The click
Resonating in my ears like a clatter
of spinning off the head
Of a bottle of red polish
Black clouds of acetone
and nights worth drowning
in salty tear-duct rain
spill over your fingers flawlessly
the way you wish pretty would
on every square inch
of your not-pretty-enough.
But pretty is all sealed up
In the same transparent plastic wrap
That clutches each brain stem
The way grubby clawed tentacle-men
grab your ***
choke every dose of ill-met
red lipstick mirror encounters
from you
and every you
ten-years in the making.

You look so pretty
on the outside
but no one wants to see
your landmines
zip modesty up to your neck
every morning
before you leave your apartment
to enter a circus
the confines of impending death
each man and each billboard
equally a lion
but please
for the love
of your ugly-*******-face
ugly-*******-face
ugly-*******-face
be pretty
hold white teeth to your skull
and your skull to a fragile pair
of rose-meadow-shoulders
remember to ignore the thorns
relentlessly.

Pretty is easy
as a puncture wound.
Pretty is the only green light
In one thousand miles.
Don’t be a girl—
You’ll be okay.

"aw,
why don't you
smile!"
the man says,
looking at me.

"c'mon,
you old thing,
fly!"
the child says,
kicking the dead bird.

I'm not going to smile
to look pretty for you
a sight to see
a sight for sore eyes
I am not
a dog.

in my
abusive
relationship
my ex would tell me
every day
to clean his room
clean the basement
do the laundry
if i didn't
I was treated
like a bad
dog.
made to look at the mess
but
it was not mine.
many times,
when I did
my
job
it wasn't sufficient
"I *******
HATE
CLUTTER"

clean it yourself,
then.
but no,
I did.
even when
I didn't like you.
even when
I hated you.

when I was 19
at the bookstore
a man
told me to get him
a card,
could have reached it
himself
could have done it
himself
guess I misheard him
and got him the wrong one
"are you stupid?!"
in his thick
accent
"stupid girl
get me
a napkin.
throw it out
here,
throw it out
I said"

you can't be any
good at video games,
you're a girl.

you can't be
bisexual
you're just doing it
for attention.

you can't
wear that
and expect people to respect you
expect people
not to harass you
expect people
to think you're smart
expect people
to not think you're a
****.

IF
I am a ****
for being confident with my body
for being comfortable
with
my sexuality
for being open
about
my orientation
for enjoying
***
then yeah, I am
I am not ashamed
of any of those things
and they do not make me
less of a
human.

don't
tell me
to smile.
don't
tell me
what to do
or
when to do it
I will do
what I want
whenever the ****
I want


I won't
smile.
I will wear
tank tops
and makeup
and beat your ***
in every video game
make you feel
worthless
I will
speak my mind
have opinions
morals
I will
read literature
learn
educate myself
educate others
I will
have ***
with whomever I want
safely, but
without any shame

I will
be
human

I look at the stain
My period has left on my favorite *******
And hold them in my hand
As I contemplate what to do with them.
I can try to get the blood out
But the stain will still linger
A reminder that I am only human
And ******* is natural but -
“Dont talk about that,
Thats so nasty.
Maybe that's why
You've been such a *****.
Typical FEMALES”
I am gross for being a woman?
Men worship my *****
But the moment I bleed
It's as disgusting as curdled milk.
Society wants to see me
As something unhuman
An object to worship
A ******, mindless creature
That does what she's told
A FEMALE.
But I am a WOMAN
I have ideas, morals, and input.
My thoughts and opinions that matter.
I can make jokes,
And drink beer,
And read,
And play video games,
And be a musician,
And speak my mind,
And bleed.
Like a FEMALE human.
Or,
Like a woman.