Girl fight

for Kelly Silva-

Cunt.
Whore.
Slut.
Apparently I
disrespected a
hypocritical
double-standard-making
bitch
last Tuesday,
because the insults
previously stated
in this
were spit out
of her bubblegum-pink mouth.

Let me paint a picture
of this gem of a girl—
obviously damaged
and bleached blonde hair
adorned with a
purple fake flower—
plunging halter,
to highlight her slight beer belly pooch
and more black liquid eye-liner
than what a squid from the ocean
could feasibly hold.

So,
I fucked her ex- boyfriend
several times
under her nose.
So,
it had been going on for
months and no one
found out until
one drunken night
a friend spilled the beans.

Never in my life
have I had a person
much less a female whom
I’ve never
really had problems with
come at me—
and not just walk toward me
in a heated fashion.
No,
she fuckin came at me like
I was a piece of meat and she was
a pitbull who has been tied up
for days in some hick’s backyard
slowly starving to death.

Instantly she went for my neck,
the bitch.
Her grip was
pretty tight.
Then came the hair pulling,
who the fuck pulls hair?
White Trash,
that’s who—
and I told her that.

She then proceeded
to throw her skank-heeled
black stilettos at me.
Luckily her previous drinks
had hindered her aim.

Her ex held her back
literally with all his might.
Angry girls
are stronger
than most
steroid-taking-
can’t-get-it—up
-IQ-of-scotch-tape-
weight lifters.

I didn’t know what to do.
so I walked away.
I’m no fighter and also a realist.
Lets face it, the bitch would have
given me a beat down most likely.

I’m not saying I’m not tough,
but I’m not a scrappy kind of gal.
I’ve always thought people who fight
were just not smart enough
to use words
to solve a problem.

Though let me give credit where
it is due—
repeatedly calling me a Ho was clearly
a very
educated and classy
insult on the girl’s part.

As I’m walking away, literally
about ten miles from
where I was supposed to sleep for the night
a friend who witnessed the “fight”
was running after me.
Thank God it was her—
because I had thought the
crazy had escaped and was
sprinting toward me to finish
what she started.
My friend held up the black heel
thinking it was mine.
Obviously I was going to suggest
the right thing to do—
it wasn’t my shoe
it was the ex girlfriend’s.

So, I flung that shoe
as hard as I could
upon the roof
of some random neighbor’s
house.

She’ll just have to
settle on another one
of her many other pairs
of trashy patton leather heels.