**** is not a bad word.
****** is no longer a burden.
Refuse to be ashamed of your anatomy.
We are beautiful and powerful womym.
The source of our power,
Is our *****.
That which we've been told to hide,
To protect,
Never to speak of.
That which we grow from,
And develop.
Where we bear children,
And shed our wombs by the moon.
That which we are made to fear;
To worry about;
To shave or not?
Does it smell?
Is it weird?
Does it look right?
From our beginning,
Our ***** are mysterious.
It is we who must reclaim them.
Gain control over them,
Learn to love,
Rather than shy away from.
****
****
Our ***** will be our saviours.

***** girl, she has veins that are vines climbing
down her lungs to her spine
then it gets paisley
her swollen belly, she has a pocket to hide

questions and tree stumps where
you laid her on her ***.
Now, I must ask: why did you **** her?

Was it for a memory?
Sometimes ***** girls just want to appear poetic
with the clothes of another
sprawled, opened like legs on her floor.

Off                   comes my slip, socks, sanity and an echo
Goes                 up my spine.  
The                   men
Film                  my sinking heart  
And                  dive into the  
Filth                  plastered against my mind without a thought  
Of                      what moments define me.
That                  girl who used to wear a  
Shirt                  embroidered with flowers and had a mother  
Making             her a meal with love is now working the  
Room               with what's left of her.
For                    -ward motion depicts nothing
More                 than bones and memories never cherished.