Why do you always have to explain that no means no? Why can’t you be a butterfly but not available to all, only the one you choose? Be Gone is a poem talking about this from Poetry by Danny Ballan and English Plus Podcast.
How difficult is it to understand that no means no and just because I have decided not to lock myself in a cocoon doesn’t mean the butterfly is available to everyone. When are you ever going to choose another goal, a goal that does not pass over my body like a trophy or on anyone. Why can’t your path be your path, your and mine can intertwine but never built on top of each other. Why can’t you fathom that little monster is all a fantasy in your little brain, I have my eyes fixed on what’s beyond that chest. The only big thing I’m looking for is your heart. So no mister no, I am not going to cower back to how you enslaved my ancestors, forward is the only way to go and if you can’t keep up, go back there and join your brothers, the Neanderthals, your inadequacy resembles theirs, and soon their fate for sure you’ll share.
You devour me with every look—
eyes blazing in a desert
glimpsing a fleeting mirage;
no matter how my lips move
you see them revolving,
no matter where I sit
my bottom’s the sun—
you seek no other light;
my legs are a crime so obvious
to move left or right or hold them tight to hide,
slithering like a snake
I feel your eyes everywhere;
the cleavage big or small
cannot help cleaving your brains—
the man who has respect is gone
the primitive man is all that remains;
my hair floating in your imagination
as if I were flying onto your lap,
and stopping to take a sip of your nectar
as if Jove’s blessings were spilled in a cup
and I were blessed to hold on to each drop
a tribesman in a suit and tie
as if all words in your dictionary
meant sex and all roads led to your bed.
Be gone! I have not endured all that time
to end up in a slaver’s arms like yours;
hold on to your virile honor—
only in the mirror you see it as great,
Be gone! with your pornographic dreams
you thought at the scene, I would drop dead
crawling on all fours like a pet
cuddling your feet to please;
Caesar, what have you conquered?
but virgin hearts and crystal souls,
and pillaged and burnt and left
and thought we were all like that—
a cold-blooded killer boasting
his knife has just defeated flesh,
and flesh is smeared by letting it in
with blood and shame and adultery—
you’ve never seen the woman in me
only an animal— as if I were a mirror;
Be gone! with your dreams and concubines
I stand tall like an old oak tree
but all that’s keeping you upright
is an old dry stick fighting like hell—
you know one day when it’s broken
and no other morals stand by,
you’ll drop down and be dead.
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