I'm sorry I'm collapsible,
while, you are all mighty.
Cutting out more shapes like my sister's and I.
Allowing us to be worshipped
for what lies between our legs
not admired for what's inside our brains.

Penned this down to ask him:
How the moon illuminates heinous crimes?
Or compares the bruises upon my chest
to the sunsetting skies?

Don't pray to not be *****,
or a woman to be paid (not in compliments)
So by all means- tell me how respected she is
that your fist is mighty,
Adams apple mightier
She just crumbles beneath your palms.

I'm sorry I'm so shredded,
they can't read the apologies I've recited upon the palms of my hand, but my father has possession of the ink to write over a women's existence like it's his right.

Mother is ashes,
father leaves a trail of them below his feet,
In that moment, I realized-
A woman will die to survive.
While, all a man has to do is thrive off her oxygen.