There is a fundamental hardness
In this body, strapped between my legs.
Feminine energies from within warp
The fragile bounds of reality around me.
But what right do I have with *****
To summon the mother, call myself woman?
Every right.
My peoples told a tale closer to people
Still with connection to the heavens,
Roles for everyone. Gods did not deny
Their existence over time like some do.
But I deny the gods and dogmas and
I'm disenfranchised from my tribe
As a ghost in the machine in the very
Heart of western Christianity's
Destiny.
I get hard. It's not a problem. I cup my
******* in silent reminder with the
Dimmest hope of finding love and family.
Just as my elders, I live and speak at fires
Now write it, too, through ill, darkness in day.
All of the time I put into trying not to die,
It fashions me.
It fashions me.
I write the same words over and over telling
Stories of sadness and anger to outcast strangers.
I traded the ease of violence for pixel and ink,
So please take the words,
Unburden me.
The End
As always, thank you all for reading, and for your continuous support through likes, loves, and shares.
I'll be taking a break from short form writing for a while to focus on developing my longer prose.
Take care of yourselves, you beautiful people. I'm sure I'll have something for you soon. Til then, you all keep writing
And I'll keep reading.
Much love,
Zan
