Hey, lady, where you at,
you who didn’t want to be like the others
singing ’bout “My Guy”
and living in his midnight world in Georgia?
Where you at, girl,
you who sang ’bout oral sex and love and desire
and other things women think and do
but nobody wants to hear us say,
not even some women;
you who sang ’bout being pissed off,
who wrote an operetta that only had two words–
Girl, where you at?
You did your thing?
So really the question is,
where are we who should be wearing your mantle?
Where is Janis reincarnated,
her voice a razor cutting through the bullshit?
Where are the Nina’s
who never compromise their art?
Have all the GaGa’s of the world
run out their 15 minutes of fame?
Remember Nicki Minaj?
She used to be a mother fuckin’ monster.
Now she’s an American Idol judge–already.
Where are you rioting pussies?
If y’all are in the underground,
you need to bring your asses up to the surface.
© Sweepy Jean and Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World, 2013