Sincerely, Jennifer x

Hello clever man,

who towers, only in height,

and has the same syndrome as boys who buy big cars.

There’s something you should know.

I’ll say it slow,

so I don’t get overwhelmed,

because you know we women are not complex,

so quiet,

so one dimensional,

(feel free to mention all the books you’ve read,

that you’d like to recommend to me,

because I can assure you,

I am dying to hear all about it)

Volume isn’t a talent.

I’m sorry.

Would you like me to be louder?

VOLUME

ISN’T

A

TALENT

PERIOD.

(Period. Just in case the rumours are true, and you’ll faint in fury at the very mention of the monthly menstrual magic.)

Volume isn’t a talent,

but you manspread over women,

boring and berating,

mansplaining,

as if yours is the only brain that ever worked.

For God’s sake,

if this doesn’t resonate,

don’t email me,

don’t leave me a long,

drawn out comment that won’t make it past my spam filter,

because I don’t care to hear some “nOt AlL mAlE pOeTs!!1!” mess,

when it’s enough,

that I,

and others have echoed these thoughts.

Nobody asked,

but you’re always the loudest answer,

to a question that doesn’t exist,

pretending not to understand why people are sick of the sound of your droll drones,

about how you’re saying things,

within things,

and some people just don’t understand

that your poetry is so complex

so profound

and somehow, can always be mansplained on top of ours.

You’re not a misogynist,

you’re just cleverer than us,

right?

RIGHT?

(Wrong, but that really goes without saying)

Volume is not a talent,

but it’s all you have to give,

which is adorable.

You’re so adorable,

I whisper, down to your bridge,

where three goats,

who fell for your shit,

roll their eyes,

for the hundredth time,

writing an escape plan,

on the back of yet another stanza you wrote,

about how you’re so complex,

in a way that nobody else has ever been,

and nobody else can understand.

I’ve seen identical verses,

from identical dudebros,

all over social media,

but I wouldn’t want to give you a complex,

so I smile,

and I say,

you’re so complex,

I don’t understand you,

I’ve never met anyone like you,

and for a few minutes,

you are in my deadlights,

mouth open,

ego edging out,

and I smile,

watching the goats make a break for it,

behind your back.