A sea of nettles and nails that scream their injustice at you
People who seem like they've shaken off their prickly outsides and their hatred
Turning to congratulate them
Embrace them
Before you find the truth beneath their pillowy covering
Nails can be blunted and nettles can be softened but they remain below your surface,
Waiting for the right moment to be sharpened and grow back their stings
I see your injustice and I raise you my peace
It hurts to tear out your nails and to burn off those nettles
But oh god does it hurt more to walk your tender, soft body through that forest of pain
This poem is for the women in sweatshops making shirts with "feminist" written on them and wondering if their owners think of them
This poem is those who see their idols revealing they're not what they should be and feeling that deep deep loss
This poem is because I'm tired of trying to change the world when it hurts this **** much
