Epistle to a bunch of cunts

I want to spit this last piece of bile    
from my mouth so I can    
Gemini through this    
and forget these bitches had names    
   
So.... right now, I'm at a    
suprisingly clean rest area on I-10    
in a car with my cat    
on the way to New Orleans    
where I’m marching in a    
Pride Parade on Saturday    
   
wearing a pair of    
booty shorts and a hot-pink    
crochet bra,    
my hair in two braids    
   
I’m going to live my fabulous life    
and grind my beautiful body    
on the undulating serpent of the crowd    
on Bourbon Street,    
and kiss every girl    
who stares at me too long    
regardless of whether or not    
she has a dick    
   
I’m staying in the city of sorcery,    
until my therapist can see me next month.    
   
It’s been a couple of years.    
I dumped therapy when he picked me up.    
I’m an asshole, but I know better than to waste therapy money    
when I’m tonging the devil’s dick hole    
(he liked that)    
   
But first.    
As part of my 12 Steps to Bitch Freedom    
I'm hosting    
The calling of the cunts.    
   
I’ve got a list.    
   
A list of absolute dickturds    
who demand I stay loyal    
and accountable    
for my own actions    
   
then do the same shit    
and cry victim.    
   
THE SAME SHIT.    
   
So cool. Let’s do it. Let’s make me the bad guy.    
I’m fucking hot as a dark angel    
and you’d die for me as the devil    
and  I eat hate like it’s a low-calorie,    
high-protein granola bar    
   
It's how I stay skinny.    
   
LET’S DO IT!    
   
First, the cunt fucktard who    
called me into the sisterhood    
while being a two-faced dick to    
someone I loved,    
   
who considered    
him a brother.    
   
His lack of morals doesn’t excuse    
your faithless bullshit.    
I stab my friends in the face after    
I tell them I’m going to.    
You kiss their cheek    
and stab their backs.    
   
But I’m the bitch.    
His morals don’t recuse your lack.    
   
And fuck that cuntbag suckhead    
who had the audacity to use a narrative    
with me to beef his views.    
His diatribe about how    
he’d been here 5 minutes and knew my guy    
was married and there should be accountability?    
   
Same dude who bragged about playing 26 bitches    
while doing the same shit    
I was doing    
   
But I’m wrong.    
Yeah. Cool. Rings true.    
   
   
And his object de affection is the    
judgiest higher-than-thou bitch ever    
   
We didn’t like each other much a decade ago    
because she’s in an ivory tower    
and I openly roll in the mud.    
But we respected each other,    
and that’s no longer necessary.    
Judge me now.    
Tell me what you like about this.    
   
I’ll pay you in pound of gold for    
every fuck I give.    
   
Actually.. those three?    
I just wanted to be a child    
and dig at some douchebags.    
(Nyah.)    
   
They don’t hurt me.    
They really can’t.    
They’re chronically angry, sad, despairing    
sacks of angst    
Life reflects brightness    
and it’s soooo weird    
it’s chronically dark    
where they exist.    
   
So. Good.    
Despair my absolute deplorablness.    
   
You're not my meal.    
   
The cunts I’m really here for.    
   
Girl. You assume I didn’t get the    
blackmail messages    
before I blocked him.    
Poor assumption.    
You assume I didn’t    
save the message you sent me    
from your other profile    
two years ago.    
You assume I don’t have    
the message you sent    
to warn him that I knew.    
   
But. I. Do.    
   
So. I’m going to stand here,    
tall, thin, arrogant, bitch that I am,    
and I’m going to stare your lying ass down.    
   
Because    
we left.    
   
We ran away.    
From you.    
   
For two years.    
   
He’s a cunt,    
so are you    
and I almost admire the balls it takes    
to call me out when you're not just    
aiding and abetting,    
but doing    
the same    
shit.    
   
You vacillate in the lines of your work    
between supporting my narrative    
and raging against false accusations.    
   
You fucking hypocrite.    
Standing on your ‘I TOLD YOU’    
while begging him to come back to you    
Railing that I need to own my shit while    
you cast blame nets everywhere but your own    
fucking face.    
   
Telling the world I need to accept my own shit    
while you threaten a man’s wife    
if he cuts you out of his life.    
   
I’m not afraid to be ugly on the inside    
I’m pretty enough outside that the    
patriarchy    
will forgive me.    
   
But you…    
are fucking disgusting    
and I bet that reflects.    
   
You lied.    
You blackmailed him    
You threatened his kids,    
his wife    
his business    
   
(If only there were proof!)    
   
But that part of the story ended.    
So I don’t have any need to fuck with you    
as long as you don’t fuck with me    
anymore    
   
Or anyone else.    
   
Because guess what, chickenbut?    
I’m not the first.    
For him.    
   
Or you.    
   
People tell secrets now    
and there are so many    
that have both of your names.    
   
Here.    
Stories…    
Stories…    
Stories…    
   
About you stalking    
hurting    
lying    
going apeshit    
   
I’m calling you a cunt    
because I don’t ever want him,    
ever again    
and I honestly don’t give a fuck    
about you now that the story is over.    
I don’t look at your profile.    
I read your last poem, but not the three before    
and I don’t care about your other site    
   
Never read those messages.    
Because… once he’s out of my life    
   
YOU. DON’T. MATTER.    
   
You’re the psycho ex of my psycho ex    
   
It feels nice to be honest.    
   
Try it one day.    
   
And the final cunt    
   
     
You, my love.    
I know.    
I do know.    
   
And it hurts.    
     
Everyone thinks you cheated on me,    
even though I’m the other woman.    
   
But it was a worse    
betrayal than that.    
   
It was the mind rape.    
After two years of sneaking around    
telling me that we could stand in the light    
and that you'd protect us from her.    
     
It was telling me it was in my head    
when it wasn't    
     
telling me we were free from her    
that we were going to rule the goddamn world    
and talking me down from the ledge    
until I apologized for being right    
   
while you bitched about me to her    
   
and when you tried to steer right    
to make us work    
I know she threatened everything you    
worked for.    
   
I know.    
Baby... I know.    
   
I don’t forgive you.    
   
So.    
The end    
   
Hail to you King Cunt,    
and your Royal Queen Cunt,    
and the cast of assorted    
Jesters in your Cunt Court.    
   
Sisyphus your life away, loves,    
   
I have to find a beautiful    
woman to dance with    
   
tonight I think she’ll be me.