men.
they lined up to punch and kick my flower
took turns politely like good little boys
with nice clean hands
it’s your turn my good man
after you sir you were here first
no no i insist
oh you are too kind
then set upon me like wolves
like apes
funneled my flesh through the secret screams of their mothers
their poor mothers who still wake up early
to put on makeup so they don’t disgust their husbands
they sowed my soil with salt before my flower could bloom
then asked why i’m not like the on-screen nakeds
with sperm on their faces like war paint on the fallen
tell me i should enjoy myself more
like the ones they shat out before me
i don’t know what’s wrong with this one
he told the next in line
maybe her mother dropped her on her head
i held my dead flower in my eyes and wept
while making lunch wraps for the children
mowgli was raised by wolves
they taught him to run and to hunt
tarzan was raised by apes
they taught him to climb and to swing
i was raised by men
and they taught me to hate my sisters
but the wind is changing
and the earth has been shaken
and there is a new topsoil now
as we kneel together
watching the sprouts emerge
we hold hands
— — —
