Friday, December 21, 2012

wimp


to tower over a crouching girl
and pass her around in an ugly twirl
hand to hand in a stranger’s love
smiling as her eyes beg how
to blame it on her choice of dress
or how her lipstick shrieked yes
to call her a bitch and a whore
(see, she walked out of a pub’s door)
to fault it on her easy dance
or a casual sideways glance
to seize in God-given goddamn right
endorsed by bravado and by fright
to have her like a free Happy meal
eaten, burped, hey no big deal
to then beat the shell that she is
(what's a date without a goodnight kiss?)
is the sickest crime in the land
and no, not what it means to be a man.

ram cobain

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