Call Her/Collar

It’s Friday night,

And my reflexes are impeccable,

It’s like I have a built-in alarm system set to deflect cat calls and dog whistles

I’m not your tree to climb

 

No, it didn’t hurt

……. because dumb-ass…. I’ve never fell from heaven

 

 I don’t need you to walk with me

 

I’m not your chocolate bar or milk;

So no you can’t taste or drink me

 

Yes it’s weave… yes my eyebrows are real

 

I don’t look like your next sideline or trap queen  

 

I’ve never ran a mile, much less to run a mile through your mind

 

My name doesn’t begin with a “Y” or “U”

There’s no need to rearrange the alphabet…



He called me a bitch

 

As if the tone in my rejection disrespected him

 

His tongue twist and turned me into an object

 

As if my body is his own personal playground

 

Somehow my mid-thigh exposure is an excuse for him to grip them like monkey bars  

Swing-set eyes over my cleavage

See-saw hand motions down my back

 

He treats my limbs like I’m some kind of freak show,

 

Like this is 1810

And my pigmented physique still outlines the ghost of Sara Baartman

 

To him my body is an ancient artifact

 

Not sacred, but made for amusement

 

I am no clown

 

But they’ve managed to convince me that I can't live without Cover Girl having my back

 

Conflicting foundations

 

Weak if I don’t respond

Un-lady like if I do

 

Half-dressed I wanted it

Fully clothed I wanted it

 

Half-dressed we wanted it

Fully clothed we wanted it

 

No!

…… meant we wanted

 

Next Friday night,

 

There will be a war zone outside of your passenger seat window

 

These are warriors wearing stilettoes, pumps, sandals, and combat boots

 

They look like me

They look like you

 

They resemble your mother

They are a reflection of your sister

 

The soul of your nieces

 

These insecure men will call us bitches because we unmuted our voices

And reclaimed our bodies off of their selfish display case

 

When they call you a bitch

remind them of who’s hanging outside that passenger seat window

 

Let them know brittle back bones will never align to your standard

 

Fix your tilted crown  

 

Don’t ever let a poor excuse of a man cut you down.