Monday morning,

Sleep deprived and mind a blur.

I step onto Main Street.

Walking to class,

tripping over broken bottles, barbed wire,

A tightrope that might   f      r     a     y    and              if you lean too far to  

                                                                        snap

the Left.

 

I stumble but life alert isn’t there when I

fall.

The shame and humiliation bombarded at me is somehow supposed to

cover my ass and lift me to my feet,

even though I am wearing pants.

 

Sugar coated cyanide

dispensed at me, like bullets from the gun

you aren’t  legally allowed to carry.

 

You SLAMMMMM your sentiments

into my soul.

Once again, you were too busy

 staring at my body to remember

 to STOP when the light turned red.

 

But you’re never going to stop, are you?

You are going to keep on goinggggg,

until my nerves are shattered and you get an

E

R

E

C

T

I

O

N

 

Because stopppppppping means that you are wrong,

and society injects poison into your skull,

 that men are always right.

Because being right is a tumor wedged in your frontal lobe,

and that we are crazy for telling you that it can be removed.

Because it is more important to get what you want,

than it is to respect us.

 

One day I hope the reality bus hits you hardddddd,

like your words,

when they penetrate our skin.

I hope you feel the pain

that is tattooed on our hearts,

and covered each day with foundation and a

s                    e

 m                 l

           i        

 

I hope you wake up from your slumber

and realize you are WRONG;

Your words do not evaporate

                  when they slither from your tongue

and snake their way into our mind.

 

I pray for the day when you will stop.

I pray that you will slow down and think,

before you run us over with your truck,

and crush us with spiked sweetness. 

So I pray that one day you will finally see

that if it weren’t for us, you would not be.