Well hello, dear Monday! Where have you been?
Congress seems on par for letting Kavanaugh in.

But not one recollective minute before —
we hear the watermarks of Christine Blasey-Ford.

When Christine and Brett Kavanaugh were in high school,
she alleges that Bret attempted to rape her; life uncool.

She’s talking in detail and laying it on the line.
Christine delivered her written account to Diane Feinstein.

That was in July.
Kavanaugh’s life to Christine is a lie.

Many women are empathetic to Christine and her watermarked view.
Unfortunately, when I was in high school, it happened to me too.

It was lunch break and I hopped a ride with a male classmate
who was pretty good looking, popular and in no need of a date.

I was popular too – a writer, rapper, and drill team dancer.
After returning to campus from lunch – he became a creepy chancer.

In his savvy sports car, he locked the doors
and unzipped his pants for a “girl-handy” score.

I asked what he was doing and to please unlock the door.
I asked him thrice, but he wasn’t listening anymore.

He was in pursuit to get me to touch his lap,
instead, I balled up my fist and give his lip a bap!

He hit me back and we begin to fight inside of his two-seater.
He struggled to unlock my door after a few minutes of me being “the beater.”

I ran inside of the school and at the first pay phone, I called my dad.
He told me to report it to the office unless I already had.

I went to the office; I was just 16 and in the 11th grade
and the female principle didn’t believe what I had to say.

She blamed me for being good looking and dressing nice,
and implied that I wanted “it” and that next time I’ll think twice.

Good Lord! Her brutal summation wasn’t right, and she seemed so mad.
The female principle gave me a pass to get over this and on to class.

I did go to class, but the feelings of being a prey did not stop.
About 30-minutes later, I hear my dad going-at-it with the cops.

Dad left his job after I hung up and came straight to my high school.
Campus monitors allowed him site access because he was a cool dude.

Dad inquired about the male student’s name that I had told him about.
They pointed my dad to his class and dad asked the student to come out.

The male student did.
That’s when I heard the cops trying to corral my dad’s wig.

The noise rang out from the corridors; rage was the pressing margin.
The cops came to my class and asked me if I’d like to press charges?

The attempt to rape a child is not a passe thing,
especially since the male classmate was already 18.

The scene got real serious; dad, the cops and the boy were standing by.
I was told to repeat the incident minute-by-minute, miss nothing, and don’t lie.

I did. I retold the tale in detail and I was not coy.
The Miranda rights came out and they began to arrest the boy.

My dad took me aside and into another room
and told me that he was there for me while chaos and uncertainty loomed.

I told my dad that I didn’t know what to do.
I just wanted to be respected; validate my truths.

Dad concurred and heard out every word that I had to say.
He explained the male teenager’s behavior, and how charges come to stay.

He left it up to me, to send the classmate to the clinger or not.
I chose to let this be a warning, they uncuffed the popular snot.

Teary-eyed with so much to lose, he never bothered me again.
I saw him a decade after graduation and his aura reflected the sin.

I don’t think he ever did such a thing again. Forcing intimacy is lame.
Plus when I saw him in the store a decade later he hung his head in shame.

I am not mad at him anymore, and it looks like his lip went down too,
I’m Qui
and Kavanaugh isn’t supreme at all if any of what Christine said is true.