False Advertising
/two inches below thighs/whole inch above fingertips/
this is the hot spot where we tattoo our women with “take me, if hem falls
above this line” just under the intersection of “asking for it” & “open for
business”
/if you need a visual, drop a pin an inch south of “property of men”/
because someone marked the whole goddamn vessel as “for sale” at birth.
your male-god pulled me from ribcage, so it’s only natural for you to prod and
poke/to dig your fingers into the wet earth of me/when you need a reminder
of what it feels like to breathe.
/don’t forget you still need a woman to teach you to breathe/
to be born in these bodies is to be made an open invitation, rsvp unnecessary.
because when you crowned, they took you from the throne of your mother and
handed you off to man. and somehow, as mothers, we still haven’t learned to
believe the abducted. we still think the wanted poster a lie. we still think the
missing will be found.
/to be born a woman, is to be born missing/
do you remember when your god didn’t believe you about the snake?
do you remember what it’s like when no one believes you?
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