The Burned Earth

Drying the upstream…a poem

I am not of this body
This body must be of another
I cannot live within these fragile walls
This sac of bones, once so sacred
Flesh freshly pierced by the exigencies of men disguised as machines
Or machines disguised as men
This body is no longer suitable
Raped of its dignity
Wires attached to my genitals ignite
On fire
I will tell you
I am ready to tell you
What do you want me to say
I will say it
What do you want to hear
I will make you hear it
Images of tiny men with smirks across their face
Dancing on my brain
Relentless in their quest
Who is me
Who is she
How can we be we if I am not me
I wait
Lick these wounds of blood and crust
I will rebuild this man