Whenever I think about you
I envision a celebrity death match type feud
In the ring I grab you by your eye sockets
and pull your body in half,
And laugh
as I watch your guts spill out.
No doubt it would be a gruesome fight.
The audience cheering at your plight.
A cheese grater, a dynamite.
A bowling ball dropped from a ridiculous height.
The cartoon revenge montage that ends with you bandaged up
with birds flying around your head.
I see us as Wiley E Coyote and the road runner,
cause I’m just a bird.
You keep setting traps for me,
and they keep turning back on you.
I see you flat as a pancake on the road
cause you tried to paint a cave on the side of mountain
thinking would crash
but i just ran through
I see you blown up by your own TNT.
And as the commentators discuss
how hard it must have been
to fall in your own traps,
I just laugh.
Meep meep and run off again.
I thought we could be friends.
We are all women after all,
fighting the same oppressive systems.
or
so I thought
It seems that you are fine hierarchy
especially when it benefits your desires and needs.
But alas,
a claymation death match is alright with me
cause fiction mimics reality.
I still win.
Im the champion.