Next time you don’t want to be friends anymore,
Say it to my face—like you did before.
Cause laughing while pointing out my flaws
Feels like trying to kiss me with a chainsaw.

They say,
“He’s playing checkers, not chess.”

But to me—
you’re still struggling
to open the box

The female body.
Just thinking of its maintenance makes me say, “ugh.”
So much to do just to keep it healthy.
They compare it to fruits—apples, bananas, pears, papaya—
To the world, it’s a blessing, a spectacle, a wonder.
But to its owner?
It feels like a machine that keeps breaking under.
Like a car that bleeds and leaks,
Leaving you drained, worn out, and weak.

Mammograms, Pap smears, pelvic exams—
They’re essential, but feel so out of my hands.
And what makes it worse—
When you tell the doctor it hurts,
They stare blankly,
Like your pain is a verse they forgot how to read.
They gaslight you into silence,
Say it’s all in your head,
When all you want is to feel safe instead.

They say these tests make you responsible,
A strong woman, in charge of her health.
But try wanting pleasure, or peace,
And they shame you for thinking of anything else.
As if bleeding monthly since twelve
Wasn’t already a battle.
As if you’re not allowed anxiety
In a room built to search for doom—
Where they flatten and probe parts of you
That the world calls “sacred,”
But treats as symbols instead of tissue.

You’re just trying to survive
With a schedule you never asked for.
And I don’t blame you
For wanting to skip it all.
Because even if no one admits it—
The female body always keeps the score.

And yet—
You still show up.
Not polished. Not boujee.
But powerful in knowing:
Though it is a lot of upkeep,
It is yours.

So,
you call women gold diggers
for wanting a man with money,
for wanting stability,
for having standards.

But then you lash out
when we ask for time, care, and commitment ,
and question if we bring
something to the table —
when you’re the one supposed
to build it.

And if a woman does try—
if she lowers her guard,
lets her standards slip,
leaves her boundaries astray—
you leave her with a baby
on the side of the street,
telling her,
"You should’ve chosen better.”

But don’t men do the same?

You want women for their beauty and youth —
and that’s even worse
than wanting money,
because money you can earn back,
but beauty fades,
and time is a currency, once lost
It can never be reclaimed.

And yet, we don’t shame you for it.
We don’t label you.
We don’t call you names.

So today,
I’d like to introduce a new term:

Youth Digger.

Because apparently,
asking for flowers
means you have to reconsider

Uncle Caterpillar
was munching on a leaf,
chewing slow, stubborn,
settled in his belief.

“I need something sweet,”
he muttered with a sigh,
then looked up and blinked—
a flash of wings flew by.

“Why do you look so weird?”
he asked with a frown,
staring at his nephew
as he fluttered back down.

The butterfly smiled,
his colors soft and grand,
“I don’t look weird.
I look transformed,” he said, and took a stand.

Uncle Caterpillar scoffed,
stuck in his caterpillar lane,
“Why change at all
when the leaves are just the same?”

“You’re so different now,”
he said, shaking his head.
“I hardly recognize
the bug I once fed.”

“That’s because I am different,”
his nephew replied,
spreading glassy wings
that shimmered with pride.

“Watch me,” he said,
then soared to the sky,
to flowers rich with nectar
Uncle could never try.

Uncle Caterpillar
stayed low, chewing leaf,
still wondering why change
had stolen his nephew’s belief.

But the butterfly danced
where the other fellow butterflies grew,
in a world full of color
that Uncle never knew

Bravo (I Am Taking in Dangerous Goods)

You made me realize—
I’m taking in dangerous goods.

I see now I’m no longer an alpha
I’m a diver that you have to keep clear of.
(alpha means I have a diver down, keep clear)

I went overboard the ship
This is not acting.
I don’t need an Oscar.
(Oscar means man overboard.)

I hear your echo—
Altering my course to the right.

I called your Papa—
He said, “We’re all on board.
No turning back now.”

I asked if I should leave you.
He said, “He’s Charlie.
That answers everything.”*
(Charlie means yes.)

I saw your new girl, Sierra—
She looks like engines
Taking you back.
(Sierra means engines are astern.)

When I believed you were my Romeo—
(Though Romeo means nothing at all)—

You set me on fire.
(Juliet means keep clear—the ship’s aflame.)

It made me want to drink whiskey—
(Whiskey means I require assistance.)

It made me want to check into a hotel,
Fly off to India,
Or Quebec—
Just somewhere I can request free pratique—
Be the pilot of my own ship—
Out at sea, playing golf.
(Golf means I require a pilot.)

It’s too bad I don’t have an X-ray
To see your intentions.
(X-ray means stop carrying out your intentions.)

I thought about going back,
But I realized it’s November.
(November means no.)

I should move more like a man named Mike.
(Mike means stop.)

Even after doing the tango—
(Tango means keep clear)—

I’m still dragging my anchor—
(Yankee means I’m dragging my anchor)—

And I need your tug—
(Zulu means I require a tug.)

You did not defend me.
What happened in that moment
Was a test of character
And if this was a book
You wouldn’t even be
a supporting character
Not a sidekick.
Not a subplot.
Not even mentioned in the acknowledgements.
You are a footnote
In a chapter I’ve already turned.