This poem should probably be titled
You Don’t Have Her Number
For A Reason
This poem should probably be titled
Things You Shouldn’ Do
At A Club To A Female Stranger
When She Limin’ Wit’ Her Sistrens
This poem should probably be titled
Zelda Got Her Own Fuckin’ Master Sword
So All You Ganondorf-Ass Punk Boys
Better Step Da Fuck Back
This poem should probably be titled
I’m Pretty Sure
Leave Me Alone Please Isn’t Your Name
Which Means She Doesn’t Know You
This poem should probably be titled
Showing Signs Of Great Fear
Means No
This poem should probably be subtitled
She Knows She’s Fit,
She Ain’t No Dummy,
She Doesn’t Need Your Boist’rous Ass Remindin’ Her
This poem should probably be subtitled
That Which We Call A Rose
By Any Other Name
Still Has Switchblade Thorns and
The Scent Of OC Spray
So People Won’t Pick Her Out Of The Ground
This poem should probably be subtitled
And No,
Stop Saying ‘She’s Someone’s Daughter’,
Because Her Humanity Isn’t Something
Solely Confined To Having Been A Father’s Child
This poem should probably be subtitled
She Doesn’t Need Me
To Write This Poem For Her
But then again
I was never that good at writing poems
so here goes,
the poem reads thusly:
Dude.
Dude,
what the fuck
are you doi-
stop, man.
Really,
fuckin’ stop.
I said stop, man,
I shouldn’t even have
to fucking tell you.
Stop.
