I wish to write
But my throat feels tight
Words never come out right
I lose sight
My mind is a constant fight

Misogyny tastes like the sanitary pad that has been used by her,
over and over again.
So it is not stained in blood but
soaked in blood.

No gods, no fate,
not even yielding to chance
To live this one life
in full acceptance:

This will only happen once!

A stubborn strength
born of a conviction
That there is no soul
in need of absolution

That life is not made meaningful
by abstract metaphysical contortions
in favor of a jealous,
angry, cruel
deity
Purportedly in love with creation

Such is the choice of the humanist
in staunch opposition
to the zealot, the spiritualist
To stand on one's own feet
Acknowledging the grand mystery
Not willing to submit.