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Oct 2015
The eye was hurt plenty of times before.
In a hollow filled with nice things,
they overflowed, no one was a baby to a right hand.
In the other hand, field of moms trying so desperately to avoid babies,
moms setting all toilets and fingers as contraception,
moms anxious about boys and suspicious about girls.
Boys apparently had those pregnancy machines and girls were the neutral side,
boys just had to plant smarty seed to see what number would show in girls' innocent tummy.
Boys grow as engineers and the engines often roar like crazy,
though it is now different from what I was taught about girls.
Skin was just some other walls,
but, really, skin is marshmallow
even the softest tongue can destroy.
You know, tummy
isn't that really innocent either.
Tummy was a determined sister in a dim church,
tummy was mother mary and holy spirit,
tummy was not an apetite for what wasn't in the tabernacle.
Tummy now has cracked her shell, so I see inside,
apparently tummy has some other things beside a fertile empty land.
The gases and the blood are in different tunnels, though
there is something else about miss tummy womb.
She isn't at all neutral, she isn't at all an item of the season.
She softens every time it rains, she makes
her own weather in her own territory.
I now know, neutral was only the word stuck between scared parents' teeth,
neutral was only the gift we didn't know was a troll,
neutral was only a paradox in the most destructive way possible.
Careful with essentially hurtful words, we
sweat, with perfect heat,
as the skins melt into one giant chewy lump.
What I didn't know about skin was
that girls had skin too,
girls just were not in their element back then;
I think girls with metallic things were sinners just a little bit too checkmate,
I think girls were housewives just a little bit too godlike.
Written by
   Earl Jane
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