tonight, because of my sarcasm, someone told me that he should “Chris Brown” me. this, he said, in front of another man that i have never met before. they both laughed. F*** YOU

your jokes have always been bad
still i was not prepared for this new brand of comedy

i am unable to locate the humor in bite marks and blue black shutters
i shouldn’t need an APB to unearth an inane excuse as to why you think it is okay to
mark me in front of another man 
as target
i am not your firing range
leave your call and response jokes behind the door
i do not deserve to eat bananas or oranges with knocked out teeth
no matter how fresh my mouth is

each day i have been committed to maintaining balance
how striking that u should strike me with this act on day four of my meditation
i almost fell
just as i have worked to purge myself of razor tongues
this should not have been my motivation to mete out iambics

yet you have found it fitting to strip me of my self respect
laughing to keep from crying now only translates as metaphor
beyond any phonetic reasoning
there are no syllables for this batch of pain
u have
inflicted
       infected
       insisted
on jokes
now your laughter has become synonymous with the plague
bubonic
death
        dark
         dire

please let me know when 
chuckles replace
pleas for help
prayers for spaces between the lashings
shame
you should be
of you and your humor
for yours is dry, bitter, tasteless
in wanting need of an elder’s finesse mixed with sugar cane
not canned, but fresh off the plantation
cause only a field negro would find it funny
to liken ur irritation to knocking me unconscious, hanging out a window
gagging
       grasping     
 gasping
for something more than air

from you
who i once considered as warrior, protector and friend
now u have me rethinking
(maybe i was too lax in my feminism)

but i am too hurt and too disappointed in you 
to waste any more of my breath
except to wish u peace and 
hope
that no man should ever shape his face to mouth such words to your daughters