I’m not your bitch, bitch

In honor of National Poetry Month here’s a short one.

Stop asking me to fetch things, do work for you, dress up, smile pretty, play nice.

Constantly, constantly, constantly…then the nerve…ask for a hug.

Pshh!

No.

 I’m not. I won’t. I shan’t. 

I’m not your bitch, bitch.

So kiss my grits fo’ eva, cause I don’t give no kind of damn. 

The soil beneath my feet will get a closer look than you. As I strut off into the humid night. 

Booty eating my pants is all you’ll see. So memorize that. Bitch. 

I need rest.

I’m hungry. 

I’m angry.

I’m lonely. 

So come tuck me into bed, fetch me a sandwich, and leave me be. 

Tomorrow coin toss

 to see whose turn to be 

bitch 

next.