I have no indeed charms. Admittedly.
No gold medal comb tin go through
This mane. My skin is not translucent.
Mine is a tail to fear. I know.
And though a mother may destroy,
She excessively sees suitable to create beauty
That would eventually grow into forms
I would swallow if I gave in
To my hungers. But, up from my wounds—
From this goat's body—
Up from my wood-smoke lungs, from
The milk of me, comes a song, a melody
To not shut yours, at that hour dated lick them clean.
#Living #Life Choices #Social Commentaries #Gender & Sexuality
No comments:
Post a Comment