Vaginal Spears

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I have heard that there are women in my mother’s village with spears for vaginas,

My sister sees them in her dreams sometimes.

These are the goddesses the universe forgot to speak about,

The gods somehow neglected and

Shoved under mats of male “gods” and saviors clothed in pants and penises.

I have heard her cry out in pain in the midst of prayers at two in the morning,

Calling out to the ghosts of women who broke in the hands men.

 

For the men building oceans out of our tear-ducts.

You will fail.

Your fists will rise up against you and you will call out for the mother that never held you.

And she will turn a deaf ear.

Your sons will marry your screams and their daughters will look like your past.

Your houses will never know what peace looks like even when it comes knocking on your front door.

You will weep and gnash your teeth.

You will burn in places you never thought could burn.

You will know hell.

You will dance with my demons at three in the morning,

And they will teach you the heart beat of fear.

You will wake up from your nightmares and search for me underneath your finger nails,

You will search for my skin at the bottom of your shoes and you will find nothing but dirt there.

You will crawl to my grave,

Undress my skeletal bones with your tears,

And still you will not find peace.

 

You will know what nothingness feels like.

You will understand the intimacy that comes with losing oneself.

To the will of men who think they are gods.

 

 

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