A body,
no hands but a heart
between heavy, fit legs with
mouths dripping honey
sweetheart necklines
the pink that hung on your walls
the ringing in your head that echoed
the way they yelled at you from the street
watery eyes from the thick black of
a mascara wand, triumphantly
feminine
and legs open, you shivered
cheeks red, the day you
smoked, objectified
that’s not how a woman is supposed to feel
remember the morning you grew into your body
the morning you were to stop wearing
shorts in front of your uncles
the morning your shirts became too transparent
the morning you hung your shoulders to
tight straps
the morning with shame
you bled
a pressure between the breasts
the home they called heart
the boys sung ridicule
and you didn’t want them back
with a quiet hum you became submissive
ripping hair off your head with a fairy toothed comb
eyes dripping and your mother yelled from downstairs
set the table, work the kitchen
but mother this is feminism
but daughter this is our culture
you were a poet but
you couldn’t find words of comfort when
your friend told you of her assault
you couldn’t find words of love in the
dead eyes of man who looked in stature and masculinity
like an abuser from your childhood
you couldn’t find words of peace when
the judges with hands on the law condemned
your existence as a condition
you were a woman but
you couldn’t find words to console the
ripe womb that damned you to this.