You’re one to throw stones

A so-called male feminist

A false king

Seated on a golden throne

You fling accusations

And pass your sentence

But where are the judge

And the jury to bring you

To trial?

When the hangman

Has a full docket

Signed and delivered

By the likes of you

Who ever thinks

To turn their eye

Back over to you?

In the midst of so many


Static on the airwaves

Headlines serving

As misdirection

Pulling us away

From the real stories

Who looks behind

That beaded curtain

And sees you

For who you truly are

As I do?

You, sir, live in a glass house

I can see through it now

All the words you said

The promises broken

Like so many women

You used as rag dolls

Scattered on the floor

Wringing their necks

In an act of passion

You would say,

“Isn’t it liberating?

Don’t you feel like

An independent woman?

Don’t you want more?”

I pick myself off the floor

Where you left me

And I cry out to the women

Who you subjected

To rise up

I ask you to look at yourself

To really look

Because you told me

That you want to change

But until you see yourself

And accept everything

That you did to us

Until you make your actions

Match your beautiful words

You will remain as you are

A wolf in sheep’s clothing

Eating your way

Through the flock

Until a huntress

Can bring you to task

Until a queen

Finally takes you down


— B.



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