We all have that artifact buried deep in our closet, That object we refuse to look at or throw away. We all struggle for a the moment at the mic, Then once it’s thrust in our face, we’ve got nothing to say. We all look down on the downtrodden, such a slob get a job chase that coin But homelessness is the new country club we all join. (and it’s free to get in) We all: ignore our sins, forget our blessings, count our problems—a bitch can’t solve ‘em? Think you ought to back that track up and re-revolve ‘em. A ghe...
Where conspiracy theories meet feminist theories. (And sometimes there's poems).