Women’s Plight


Change is a bitter strange fruit

that shapes at my crevices

the hurts sting

nothing is static tree

the world opened up for me

whispering sweet things and

promises that are easily broken

can i change back

shed knowledge for ignorance’s bliss

i can’t do that

Adam’s rib is in too deep

heat chases me across the plains

grazes my thighs, moist

the inside of a pomegranate

is that how i taste

The sky quakes with hate

as the All Mighty desecrates the landscape

out cast

lone harlot

He pushed me aside

to stay in It’s good graces.