As the blood drips off of her knuckles,

All she can do is smile.

Her heartbeat is going at the speed of light,

Her victim doesn't appear to be conscious.



As she tries to regain her aloof composure,

All her hands do is shake.

Her face is locked in a satisfied smirk,

Her violent fix has been met.



As her victim bleeds from the face,

All she can do is worry about her knuckles being stained.

Her knuckles are split open severely,

Her smirk hasn't left.



As she washes her ****** hands,

All everyone did was stare.

Her mind is racing with emotion,

Her mood is full of pride.



She didn't want to have to hurt her,

But it was simply meant to happen.

Now, her blood was spilled,



Now all she can do is beam.

anywhere from the ages of eight to sixteen
girls start to learn how to clean the blood out of their clothes
to prepare for the war against women

because it's important for us to know how to hide the evidence
of our self-inflicted scars
the ones that we leave on our wrists
and our thighs
and our hearts

and it's even more important to know how to hide the bodies
of the men who don't understand that we're people
not just objects or wives
and that we are human beings
we have wants
we have needs
we have lives
and we must learn to defend ourselves against those
who can't seem to hear the word
no

from the time we are nine years old
woman is synonymous with soldier
and i'm ready for the war

Every time he looks in the mirror
he sees the devil staring back
with a malevolent sneer
he sees death in his eyes,
all the lies he's ever told
everything he's not supposed to be
and everything he will never know
he sees a kid, supposedly filled with glee
but he knows all he really is,
is a poisoned **** just trying to grow.
A ****,
trying to blossom in a world filled with trees
everyone knows that bees never pollinate weeds.