peddling purity distortions
cutting my face into a mask
my whole world is 
varying flavors of pain
but outside of myself
let me observe the other
no one declares 
the male body sacred
worth the love of respect
protection or nurturing
surely we are more
than either 
desecrated
or the desecrator

spell-check can't correct misandry

There does not need be 
A king 

And do not praise me 
A queen 

Fixate the hole in the ground 
The blisters in the crease 
The black eye and sore heart 

I carry the shovel 
Where ever needs be 

A desecrator with a fearless 
Grin nestled in the crooks 
Of my painted red lips