Shit I don't like:
Men with eyes that
slice like double edged swords.
Men that seem
friendly, harmless, maybe even gracious,
until they open their
mouths.
Men that have things
to say to me,
about me.
Don’t tell me that I
am so beautiful as I stand,
feet aching,
stomach grumbling,
counting down the minutes
in this unrelenting job.
Don’t stand and talk
to me about things that make me
exceedingly
uncomfortable
while I am trying to
work.
Don’t flirt with me
while I am in a position that requires my
joyousness
compliance
cordiality.
You are as old as my
father,
an incredibly gentle
man who taught me self respect
that you so choose to
belittle.
You are out of place
Sir.
No I will not call
you by your first name,
no matter how many
times I see you a month.
Formality is what
separates us.
Just as you should
call me by my full name,
the name my parents gave
me.
A string of letters
which describe me more than just that
pretty face
you think
I have.
No comments:
Post a Comment