his grip on my thighs become the reason
i lie about the boys of summertime
and their sweaty hands that trail my tan spine
which turn into sharp knives come wintertime
as snowflakes fall to the hardened ground
i remember my body against yours
and the burning embers of our red love
in fall it dims and dims and dims more
until its black against the white ground
black like the nights we snuck out our homes
and found each other with the white of flashlights
the sun rises before we're ready
winter comes before we're ready
our burning fire turns to cold cold ash

The world would be a better place if'

If three out of five women weren’t ***** around the globe

If 103 million women in Africa alone weren’t circumcised
And didn’t have to mutilate themselves in order to attract a husband

If 20.9 million plus weren’t sold into *** trafficking

If women and girls didn’t make up 98% of that number

If men didn’t make on average $7,000,000 more than women in their lifetime in the US

If one out of every six of American females were not *****

If they weren’t told
“It’s your fault”
“What were you wearing?”
“You must have provoked him”
“What are you complaining about? At least you had ***”

If one of every forth woman didn’t experience domestic abuse in their lifetime

If every 15 seconds a woman is saved from battery rather than experiencing it

If the 16% of seats in congress stood equal to the 51% females make up for in the population

If 73% of girls under the age of 13 didn’t want to change an aspect of their physical appearance
And if that number didn’t raise to 90% by the time of adulthood

If girls weren’t told “think like a man!”

If “running like a girl” meant to run the fastest you possibly could

If there wasn’t a national debate on what women can or can’t do to their own body

If girls weren’t sent home because her shorts were too short
But boys can wear a shirt saying “Cool story babe, go make me a sandwich” without anything being said

If girls could venture alone at night
Without being scared of the men hiding in the dark

If we got over this notion that cat-calling should be regarded as flattery
Rather than a threatening presence by an unknown man

The world would be a better place if

On the solid grounds
He lifts me up to the sun
And falls back to earth

Along pink flowers
Hyperactive butterflies
Flutter on my nose

We roll down the hill
Grass stains cover my body
He still kisses them

He reminds me of
Sun shining through thunder storms
And turtles swimming

He jumped in the lake
And drowned from the weight of rocks
Kept in his pockets

Sun shines through the trees
And onto the river bed
He tells me ‘hello’