How to Make a Molotov Cocktail

Her crib walks across the bedroom
And I find her pieces by the floor
Do clattered torn clothing get your goat
Man! I hope it does
because she’s only three and you’re looking
Like a wolf about to gulp down a chicken
And shatter shatter shatter
Thirty years later
She’s looking to replace
your penis with antidepressant
And that don’t matter
Cause you still drinking with her father
Commenting on how cute that blue dress looks
On her nice boobies
It’s been a while since you saw em
Ain’t that how you do it?
Ain’t that how to make poetry?
Because at the end of the day when the world is sitting right behind
And she’s writing a poem
you will be the one who would take away her clothes
Turning her naked in middle of a cafe
And she would run to the bathroom
Only to hear creaky voices sounding snake venom
into bloodstreams that could’ve watered
personalities into daisies but, instead
Creates hatred
And it would be behind her.
with a wobbly crib being pulled across the stage
You see complaints are silence
Silence resonating across hills with officers asking
“Hey you don’t look so attractive
Are you sure you were raped?”
“I mean officer i am standing here with my broken spine
And a half toothed smile across my face
And the line behind my back has
Women who could qualify as goddesses
And the thing is if I was a goddess
You would ask me to be modest
And because I am already modest
You question my sanity”
Just like my uncle did
When I refused to sleep
Because slipping a grown penis into a 13 year old’s panties
For she dared to grow boobies is just the just punishment
Riots, molotov cocktail
We’re snowflakes because we called out someone who followed me around
For 15 long days, even in the library and outside bathrooms
Whose bated breath became my bane
And who made me feel like closing everything and lying in bed
Except I knew the footsteps before the bedroom
The sighs beside my bed
Paranoia, madness, depression
Pills to take after breakfast, after lunch, before sunset, after twilight, before dinner, after death
Everytime you feel threatened
Well, when do I draw that line mate?!
A safest place turns into a nightmare
Cuz you know, your best friend’s mate’s a lil drunk
And you do have big boobies
So like, forgive him mate
And honey I would
But, being clattered clothing on the room
As the crib moves across marble floors
And my cries become a fond joke between my parents
I become angry
For fuck’s sake,
tomorrow, if I take a chair and smash it across beauty companies
And try to bleed out this hegemony of abuse
I’d be chided and made fun of
But, so be it
I am fucking survivor mate
And I have a knife
Which dares you to call me a victim again!