Spice.

I was recently moping about because I wasn’t feeling very inspired. Then I listened to Putting Out Fire like 40 times in a row, and I guess all it takes is a little Bowie to get my muse out of bed. As she stomped upstairs to get to work, she scowled, “You asked for it.” I think that summarizes this poem perfectly.

Thanks for reading and encouraging, my luscious library card carriers.

Dear World:

I am not sugar and spice and everything nice
I come from women
who never asked twice
All bullets and vice and daggers and dice
The kind who’d answer
your slap with a slice

So please stop asking
if your shit will suffice
And go find yourself
a “nice” sacrifice

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