But not about things that affect me. Say what you want about me, I’ll give you the side eye and keep it pushing. Try to knock me down, I’ll stand up, look you up and down, and continue on as I was (but better). Do these things to my brothers, my friends, the girl across the street, that guy I’ve never met, and I get completely livid. Hurt my brother, I cuss you out now and cry later. Call the President a fraud, I rant and weep.
I’m a sensitive ass female. Not for me, but for them. Maybe that’s a drawback of being a poet….