A pussy to grab is not a pussy that wants you.
Oh, to be a woman in this America!
Nasty this, nasty that.
I can show you what true madness makes of a woman.
I quite prefer oranges but not of the Wharton kind.
Nah, I will not quiet down.
The mothers before me bled for my poetry.
A century of feminine roars,
Of masculine tears,
Of non-binary resilience.
What does America look like to you?
You cannot make a fool out of a writer,
Not even if you are the President.
Oh, how tired I am of picking the lesser evil!
Does no person see life for its rawness?
Does color scare you more than an AR-15?
Is a piece of cloth more threatening than the echo of a ventilator?
Where is the empathy?
I beg to know.
Where is the kindness?
But I should know the answer as even ones on a smaller scale,
Even upstate New Yorkers like to see the way blood comes out of you.
How many women have clawed at my fragility before?
More than a handful and most called themselves friends.
So why am I surprised how power haunts a nation?
How power sells out faster than Pinot Grigio and you guessed it, gets you drunker!
Hopeless! Helpless! Loveless!
Less, Less, Less...
But not less of a woman, beg your pardon.
Not less of a human, despite what your fake news weeps.