Love is a bitch.

You talk about love

I don’t wanna hear it

When people sleep on me

All the time

Like religiously

Like giving vows in

The church vicinity

And I didn’t watch you tie

The knot.

But in my culture

It’s jumping the broom

I prayed on the side

For a loving groom

And for spectators

To cheer us on

As we made way

To our consummation room.

He would hold my hand

And lead me with his

Right foot

Marching like a soldier

To confess his undying love

And I would feel some sort of joy

That I was his doll

His brand new toy

A prized possession

For him to enjoy

And I take on being taken care of

In the most undying satisfying love.

And surely God would bless it

As he does all things

But this specifically

Is special, and pure

The breaking of old

Beginning new cycles.

But I don’t want to talk about love

Or how she makes you feel,

I want to talk about something real

Like the wave of sounds

Like standing on the ground

Feet out touching the grass.

It’s all been a fantasy

That we’ve all imagined,

Love and its consummation

When women eat us all alive

Then spit us back out

Like half chewed food

Like how a wasp makes its nest.

But I guess they made it out of love

Or maybe obligation

To live and to keep on going

To be blessed by the almighty God

With workers and crops for new seasons.

Don’t tell me about love

Don’t talk to me about it

Because I don’t know about it

But I know it

And she’s a bitch.