#raw femininity

I would love to be a girly girly,

Girl dinner and girl math.

But I'm a chancha woman—

I was born like that.

It's me, the tonkatsu and the prosciutto.

I grunt, I smell, my vagina farts.

I feel disgusted by many things—

You, you Sir; among them.

Reading fiction, poetry nonetheless.

For breakfast: Monster drink and Marlboros.

It's vape to gouache, pretentious brat

Asking for tips in your barista gig,

Never working a day in your life.

I sleep at 9 p.m. or in the morning rain.

There's a cucumber

That I used to please myself,

Collecting dust and mold under my bed.

I eat a lot, fry many things.

And since this is not Stars Hollow,

I'm overweight.

Crazy woman, in the line—

Manic Pixie Dream girls can wait.

I'm convinced I'm not ugly.

In consequence, men are all pedophiles.

I could be weird,

But I don't have the time.

There's an office to attend—

Reality TV won't watch itself.

I could do so and them, participants of fun, scripted play,

Surgically enhanced lover boys and girls.

Truly, child's play.

I would have them working on something productive in a day.

I could pull any of them,

Get them in my bed, make them scream for help,

If the right moment, the right place,

And if I feel like it.

Chancha woman, once a communist,

A liberal and a fighter.

But they are also pigs, so I left.

Mustaches and mullets with a taste

For fiscal paradise and tender meat.

So I just lay in shit all day

And watch my girls.

Angry at them,

I'm jealous and vain.

I don't act upon it—

Critical thinking skills

Just don't go away.

But like an IV drip, I watch, one by one,

All the girl's enthusiasm wash away,

Numbing me, wishing it would stop.

I'm a woman; I like kids.

I just don't like it when they cry or scream.

Mostly, I like their dads—the married ones.

When they eventually break my heart,

I could say how they told me lies.

I just don’t know why life works for them all.

But I would never walk away, I'm too empathetic.

I haven’t had any luck with roommates,

Or partners,

Or girlfriends,

Or parents.

They never appreciated me,

Always abused my kindness,

When all I do is care for them,

Give them my all.

I just ask them to be there

And not talk stupid shit—

Stupid songs,

Stupid movies.

No one is competent, and no one has taste.

And they get to be offended.

I just wish they’d love me.

Why do I have to mourn miserable souls that will never be happy?

Fated

But I was not born a girl—