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



…… 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.