Bitch

is what you’ll call me once you’ve read this, once
you’ve reset your system, swallowed the surprise of me
not being meek, soft-spoken, pleasant, accommodating, trying
too hard, instead lashing out with intent, thinking for once that you can take it
as you once thought of me

what else do you call leaving the bed to sleep on the sofa
when I wasn’t willing, scrutinizing my instincts, also comparing me,
my performance, to her, who invariably scored higher, who possessed superior
skills, having been a quick learner. Belittling me when drink was taken in front of my friends,
all in the name of disclosure

so you called me, and others beside me, what some men call their
women when their backs are turned and their brothers not listening
clean words that turn stale, that turn sour, upon hitting the air

now hear this:
I didn’t want to be fucked when there was love to be made
yours was a blunt tool and the task beyond you