Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2014
I crush dead leaves under my feet.
The satisfying crackle-hiss reminds me
Of when your bones crunched into a million pieces,
Marrow collapsing under the disbelief that a pretty little thing like me could have denied you.
You have been panting after me like a dog in heat for a year. Do not think I wouldn't notice.
I will use the feminine wiles at my disposal, all of them ammunition against boys like you, with your doe eyes and quickly hidden smirks.
I hear you in the locker room. A mass of hooting, crowing creatures that shout out at the slightest dichotomy between what you think is normal and what is normal.
You think I don't see Paul, who comes home bruised every day because his heart is too big for one gender?
I walk past the locker room and recoil, because you reek of privilege and body odour. I hear you talk about the man, Laverne ***, who was on your television last night. Disgusting, you say, like your opinion should matter. I close my eyes tightly and hope your idiocy is not contagious.
Bang, bang, bang. That is the roar of gunfire as I smile sweetly at you with lips you deem to red, as you call me a ***** and ****. A million slurs wouldn't do you a single favour, darling.
You remind me of the time that you paid for my meal and I blow radioactive gas in your direction as I laugh in your face. The thud of bomb shells fall behind us. I sharpen my nails into claws and strike.
Once upon a time I would have thought you handsome and sweet and popular, qualities we are taught to fall in love with regardless of flaws. If you hadn't been handsome anyway the illustrious promise of being safely heterosexual was always reminded of. Now boys like you I leave behind in the dust for girls like me. We laugh at your antics as we dye our hair colours the Church would have disapproved of. We don't care, anyway, our kisses are the salvation we were never conditioned to believe in.
Warnings for misgendering, transphobia, homophobia, Nice Guy Syndrome (?), white cishet man privilege (??)
I've only just realized that I wrote this on the same day my best friend told me about the boys in the back of her lecture, who were objectifying a fellow schoolmate into a *** object. So this is for all the women who have been degraded to something you are less than worthy of.
Aya Baker
Written by
Aya Baker  Singapore
(Singapore)   
647
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems