Women Tell Me

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Women tell me I am biting but men always tell me they don’t bite.

I bite.

I shouldn’t have to explain this: I have teeth. Biting is a requirement to eat.

I eat souls. Scavenge pieces broken and swallow them whole.

How many licks to the center of an orgasm?

I have yet to meet a man who knows.

 

Women tell me I am biting. Men say that’s okay.

I want to be a woman who takes her time.  Who chews things into pieces.

I master tastebuds. I master faceplants. I only black girl dance.

How many questions to the center of the truth?

I have yet to ask enough.

 

Women tell me I am biting. Men are worse.

They smile when they say words like “lady”

I don’t wanna be a lady, I wanna be a woman marked with color

I wanna be a woman made of stone.

I don’t mind being called hard.

I bite.

 

Women tell me I am biting. Men avoid me like the plague.

Am I supposed to remember the names of men I only laughed with once?

Am I supposed to follow all of them on twitter and instagram?

Why should I have to respond to LinkedIn messages about the taste of my cum?

How many job offers do you hide in your profile?

Don’t ask me about mines.

 

Women tell me I am biting.

I hope that I am.

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