In god’s hands

This poem explores my own struggle with the patriarch, and my disgust with its leanings on the male. I don’t have much more to say. The poem is what it is. Like it or not.

In god’s hands

I am a doll

He dresses me funny
sometimes
and takes my head

for His son
who has nothing
but a poorly made
crown

I don’t mind the cow who shares our table
at tea: he keeps his hooves to himself

but the snake wants my womb:
she remembers who she was
before Christ

made her a cock

Under my dolly dress
God’s fingers
adjust
my attitude and slip

My being a girl keeps Him aware
of who I was

and who I will be
one day
Now I lie under him

(and Him)
and take cocks
because that’s the way
it’s supposed to be

My plasticity forgives
(That’s what I tell Him
when He asks about His be-all
end-all)

because that’s what He wants
to hear beyond murmurings
of snakes and cows

who remind me of my nature

I have a vagina

The world has too much bad poetry. Silly, sappy rhymes about love lost or found. Emo poems about cutting, dying and dismal things. So much bad in the world. This is good.

I have a vagina

you have a wish

A boy thinks it’s a cunt that makes a woman
less than he. But women know the truth
of teenage tarts pushing dicks
between their legs. Standing

in front of a mirror, they see the promise
of trinity. A woman never pretends
to have a cock, even when it’s yours. She takes it

because she can. And you don’t really want it.

I hate you

This is a poem I wrote for a dear friend. As a child, he was sweet and positive-thinking. Now he’s put the child aside. Time for the new man that I hate so much.

I hate you

I think I’ll kill you now,
and keep your skin and bones,
like teeth rattling in my mouth,
until you scream for me to stop

killing you now: death is never sudden.
When you stop to drag it out, drag it down
the streets, and smear asphalt with a wide red
streak: It’s you, your ribs spread to catch stones

and hold them. Now, every scream is another joy
of icy jewels rattling loose in my pumpkin grin:
Jack doesn’t know shit about how much I hate you.