Beat it Up, Nigga—Catch a Charge
Let's workshop this poem about the challenge of trusting men when, on top of their jungle urges, pop culture plays two main chords: hypersex and hyperviolence (spiked with sphincter-loosening drugs)
Beat it Up, Nigga—Catch a Charge All the spit-in-my-mouth, Perc-30-my-asshole, taunts of pop hypnosis set aside—still, how can she trust men when men themselves, nursing prefire urges too umbral to voice even in locker rooms, trust no man: saying, “What’d you expect, going into his home alone?”
