With a Little b

Lately all that I can muster is a
purge of words and regurgitated facts,
and dry heaves when I try to write something real.
I excrete a daily concrete shit mound
(Shit a brick is what I mean)
And every uninspired word
Is stomping out my fire;
My love is now my grind.
It’s ground my teeth into nubs, made stubs for fingers, and
my liquefied brains are drainin out my nose like my ex-lover’s apathy
Ha! At least I had that release.
His weekly grind was my weakness
And grindin on that sexy Mexican made me
WANT to get back to my weekly grind again.
(Writing…)
But as much as I needed that hour of bliss
I’d just end up missing him more.
To him, too, I was a tool,
put back in the box for later use.
Work is what I do.
I work for the oral pleasure of my lover,
a fleeting glance of a peer,
a check-mark by professor,
Hell! I’ll even work for an unfair standard
Set by a faceless public and partners for a Female-free America.
I work to get paid.
My paychecks are made of letter grades and
Approval with a capital A
That’s my minimum wage
And all this time I’ve been wondering
when the FUCK do I get a raise?!
Oh wait – I live in the lone star state
Where the going rate’s been the same since ‘78.
I’m counting down the days till I own myself.

You could say I’m Just takin the money,
but funny, I’m still strapped for cash and
every day I wonder why the hell I’m still doing this shit.
See, a bitch like me gets no return.
And that IS what they call me, bitch.
bitch with a little b.
and if you’re anything like me
you take it up the ass without makin a sound
Let em pump it down
to the back of your throat
With watery eyes and puke in your nose
And if only his taint smelled like roses….
I’d at least get some kind of pleasure from this work.
Nah, bitches don’t get to create art.
We get meat scraps and pats on the head.
We eat off the floor and take shits with everyone watching.
And still, I keep fuckin,
freakin for seed to feed
these hungry hedens’ need for me.
The stag charge’s paid, I get laid and
HOT Damn if my pussy don’t make a fat-ass profit!
That is what you wanted,right?

But I b’lieve I’ve been trickin for a little too long;
See, this is my first poem in a year.
My fertile field’s turned brown and bare
(It’s pretty much there)
And when the sun (or I) goes down for the last time
I’ll take that long ride
Get ditched in a field
And wander till I’m someone else’s Bitch.