Wet, Vast, Slow, Open

What lies between my legs Takes, far more than it gives. Turns my body from an Open palm to a closed fist. This battlefield between my thighs remains a Bleeding hole all of the worst things About myself have escaped from. That is what they scream at us, That is what echoes off the walls of our skulls, That is what they hope turns us into Self proclaimed dust. To them, us women are made of Glitter and eyelashes and halos Of wombs and softness and mystery Until we aren’t Then we become chipped glass and Bent wire and jagged fingernails. Shoving their abuse up into us and spilling every last drop of Their triumph, They try to convince us they are worth far more Than our hope and broken windows. We can taste the lies on their lips the Ones that will drop ripe from their smile like hanging fruit from an old tree Here these lies slither in front of a jury. And the black hole between my legs sucks my voice away For it tells me that too many men have played victim to The law for it to mean anything to anyone. We are sick of applying chameleon skin to our cheeks Hoping if we are held up to the sunlight and scrutinized All they see is the dirty brick wall behind us. This Earth is where we would rather be the background than the Main attraction. We are tired of disguising our pepper spray as lipstick And it not mattering anyway Because both will make us targets. Us women are fed up with pretending we are grateful For this 'natural' genocide on our human bodies This bullet hole in us Is where the war hits hardest. My mothers, my daughters, my sisters My past, my future, my now There is always hope Before the junction of our legs was a black hole It was a star.