Gone to the Dawgs


It's just really frustrating:
how it only takes one person to ruin
a safe space; feeling obligated
to play into the "nice guy's" hands; how you
can point out you're busy and not be heard. "Just one,"
he says, "just one:"
touch -- 
just one turns into many and you start
to wonder: "again?" with a heaving sigh
and a strained sort of smile that will never be
noticed because: your expression
is not firm enough; your life
is not excuse enough; you are
female and that is to be:
infirm, impotent, asinine, alkaline
as in basic. You're a basic bitch
and this is your lot in life to be man's best friend,
to take it from him doggystyle and to accept
unwaveringly that "he a dawg" when he
makes the mistakes you would never dare
because you're house trained and that
is what you have to look forward to. Starting with
Step One. You meet a guy and he's a nice guy 
with buzz words like pretty and smart and 
pretty smart who winds and unwinds his syllables
in mind-numbing patterns long after you say: 
"I'm busy." A friend is watching and in your head
you can hear her with buzz words like sensitive and creative
and sensitively creative and it's no longer a question of "if" -- 
you can see the expectation in his eyes because "silence 
is consent" and you have one job in life, to concede -- but "when."
How long before you fork over your number, before you answer 
his emails, before you agree to one date-that's-not-a-date 
that turns into many come-on-it's-a-date's. You are a game 
and he's playing fetch and you'd stop coming back 
if there wasn't a chain around your neck -- adorned in diamonds, 
there's a leash from your hand to your heart to his fist. 
It's really frustrating: 
to feel like a misanthropic misandrist when all you want
is someone to ask "is it okay if" and not expect anything 
but sincerity, honesty, complete and utter liberty; to feel 
small; to know that the safe spaces were wedged 
in between jostling elbows and unwanted brushes; 
to be a girl, a woman, a member of the opposite sex that knows 
when to shake hands and when to play dead.

Roll over, Rover. 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741