It’s a Good Day to be a Bad Bitch



Just smoked a spliff, outside the house drinking a cup of coffee, I think I’d like to switch to tea.  Haven’t brushed my teeth in days, the molly, the acid, the cigarettes, the dust, the weed, the lack of sleep, the K, the cold stuffiness, the humor these days is phlegm, ick, it’s working out in bike rides and dances, I just want to vogue, break and swing, contact, improvise, play, pretend, set things right in my life, like relationships, debts and dreams.  I stepped to a microphone the other night and no beauty came out, not a breath of it, nothing new spoke from my lungs but mad mumblings of a dancer caught in a body without a voice, I screamed to the heavens in mad raves of silent lunacies and endless vagueries, vogueing incessantly clowning around, I was a mousey trickster with a bad attitude and grin, the black rabbit rabbit of the 1st bad bunny bunny when your luck gets stolen and the juju is upon you, handed out coal of charisma you roll 1’s everytime when this shadow passes cats don’t got shit on this feline bear headed high fashion doll claw you up good when she crawl down the spine, what your poppa paid good for a good time what your momma made good for a good time, Nah I’m outta this rhyme,

Because I’m a bad bitch, a queer eyed folk find, There’s a calling, if you can find it, that I don’t know that I go by, every Tom, Dick and Harry, Sarah, Ann, Kate and Kerry get introduced to a dude who’d been called all kinds of things, introduced onstage by a different name every night, never settle on what words fit just right, How do you call me?  Guess.


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