you think the heads
hung on your wall
define you,
prove your masculine worth.

to me,
they are a warning
to stay far away.

women and animals
are not yours.

we are not yours,
we are not trophies for your wall,
we are not notches for your bedpost,
we are not prizes to be won.

yet you would treat us as such,
equate me and my sisters
with the lion in the savannah,
and reduce us to what you can take.

you would hang us on your wall,
furs and maidenheads,
displaying us as symbols of your prowess.

we do not exist to stroke your ego,
to let you show off to the others,
to have you carry us as the mantle on your shoulders,
the crown upon your head.

our blood,
the lioness and mine,
is on your hands and your walls,
and we will make you regret it.