pretty (for a tinder chick)
dude
what the fuck is your problem???
you’re on a dating app to speak to
“hot singles in your area”,
collegiate chicks conditioned
to thinking their only worth is
how well they move on a mattress.
you signed your name,
unchecked the box that said
i would like to receive email notifications
of future updates and newsletters!
and digged through your camera roll
to post pictures of you and
“THA BOYZ :P!!!!!”
drippin in “finesse” at prom.
(prom. you’re 21 fucking years old.
you do NOT look the same as you did
in high school. can we PLEASE
make it more socially acceptable for men
to take pictures of themselves
so that i don’t have to get catfished by a
four year old picture?? thanks.)
you.
joined. a. dating. app.
a hookup, hit it ‘n’ quit it,
sex-frenzied, one-track-minded,
“they only want one thing”,
sex. app.
to what?
to talk down… to me?
who
you
sought
out…
on a dating app?
that you willingly posted
a prom picture to???
to come into my messages,
to come into my mind and get me
to come into your car
and into your home
and then what?
to be upset that i know i’m pretty?
baby,
no offense,
i’ve heard it before.
you are not the first man to tell me that.
i heard it
when i left roses down the aisle
of my cousin’s wedding
as a kindergartner;
when i waltzed into the dinner dance
in my middle school gym
as an eighth grader;
as i stood in my prom dress
at the side of my dying grandmother’s hospice bed
as an emotionally distraught eleventh grader;
and as i was wearing a stranger’s t-shirt
trudging to the bathroom of a dorm
i didn’t even live in,
when i heard someone
high-five the stranger with an “alright!”
when they thought i was out of an ear-shot.
yes, i know my worth
in a world where i’m told it’s with my hands
in some man’s kitchen making him a sandwich.
and i am not sorry that i know it.
i will not be sorry for looking myself in the mirror
and admiring the journey i’ve taken.
and i will not be manipulated into hearing,
“you probably know that though, right?
you think you’re hot shit, is that what it is?”
when i don’t say “thank you”
to each of the compliments you spew at me
every thirty seconds.
i’m under your comforter!
you don’t have to win me over with a half-assed
compliment
and then be butthurt when i don’t laud you
for saying something halfway decent.
i’m not here to be told i’m pretty.
you don’t assign me that.
i was pretty
before i dropped the lanyard with attached pepper spray by your door
and i’ll sure as fuck be pretty
when i leave your sorry ass in the bed you came in.