beasts made out of pieces of clay
my God is an artist
the reason he makes these beasts is to play
with the clay when it hardens

angels feel no danger in the throes
my God is so fearless
don't try to look his almighty in the toes
when his steps are so careless

This news consoles
The heck of us,
In gestures strained imprints
On hearts.
They learned a daily bite
Of stats:
Us figured, scooped,
Against and fast.

Like that of spoons
Fed to the blind
By those dictators
Who still fly.
Plots hatching plots:
them aged and trite.
Like was it news to you?
Not in the slightest.

When they point out you being a female;
Reply them that they can't bleed monthly.
When they comment on your outfit;
Then you revert back to them that there are exceptions and uniques all around.
When they put you under their shoes;
Reply them that they can't bear labour pain.
When they left and abandoned you;
Reply them that you are very happy and moved on from them.
And when they come back again to put you more down;
Show them that you no longer cares of them so they don't need to retort.
Cuz you never give up at all,..
You never give up that all.

Words can strike like swords,
leaving wounds that time can't heal;
They scar the heart and soul,
more so than iron or steel.

Iron in the stone bleeds a colour
against grey enamel,
bone bedrock

See ticks and tocks writ on lined faces,
craning to read flickered futures
where rock-solid certainties
and metal connectivities clash
in janky dissonance

Grasping the surety of a copper coin
in a clenched fist,
the shape as sure as love and rage,
when opened, shows
the sleight of hand and thought
sold to us all

she ran until she could run no more
screamed until she could scream no more
fought until she could fight no more—
yet to save her it was never enough.

she was forged with iron, wrought of steel.
bourne of fire, taught never to feel.
she was the daughter of life, mistress to night—
grace brought of blood, fallen being of light.

she is beauty, insanity— and all in-between.

Skellums! Intae doomed countra
Ironclad ah dwell,
Claymore flashing in yon mirror,
And o'er the dreary muir.