almanac

An Ode to Being a Vulgar Woman

NASTY is branded across my forehead

Singed with every shocked expression associated with each FUCK and SHIT and the occasional 

Oh, so very occasional 

“CUNT” 

Do we own this word? It’s not yours

But is it mine?

The distaste stings my raw lips 

And cheeks

And other lips

And ripped up fingernails 

Free from your “Big Apple Red” and “Ballet Slippers” and instead replaced with dirt and grime and life and death 

Not protected by a wall of fuzz and glitter and candy G-strings and expensive lingerie

“That isn’t very ladylike” prying my legs open and closed

Like those books not made for me

Movie cases for the films that are too dirty 

And albums not for girls, girls, girls 

But men

I can’t walk home in the dark with my headphones on?

Then I’ll trudge and yell and scream and listen to my music out loud 

Every time I turn and meet the eyes of a boy staring at my ass

I’ll bash your fucking face in, kiddo 

Stomping hard enough for you to feel

For you to hear

Or ignore? 

Just like you did with the rally signs and graphic t-shirts and buttons

The Facebook proclamations of equality and disparity and destruction

The short stories and shitty poems

Just like this one

“This pussy grabs back!”

This pussy birthed you

This pussy will swallow you whole

Spit you out

Chew you up

And scrape you across that pavement

That same damned, vibrating pavement on which I stomped

And cried

And screamed

And bled

And will keep stomping 

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