You want poetry, you dirty whore?
Fine.
When you choke on the words
I’m about to speak, remember
you asked for it.

Don’t scream when I pull your hair,
when I drag you from here to there,
when I tie you to a wooden chair
and force you
to watch me sharpen my pencil.

This is poetry, vulgar and dirty,
as it is and as it should be.
What a world we live in!
all comes from the exterior,
nothing from within.

Don’t fucking move, bitch.
I’m not finished.
This is poetry, and it’s only
just the beginning.