For the Wild Daughters of My Womb

You’re inescapable: your energy gives you away: your posture writes the misfortune within my head

{Fighting ~ Writhing} You wrap her in linen until she’s small and dependent: tucking her beneath one of your ribs: because someone once convinced you that woman was moulded from man: from his bone: from his carnage

You bind her mouth: her eyes: her hands

Expecting of her to bathe in your marrow: soaking in DNA scriptures so she may be as you’ve always seen: the potential for so much more

You aim to improve on her design: to force an impossible innocence: a media obsessed shape: “My Madonna” : “My whore”

Repetition from a foaming mouth: yelling broken soul wants: “I love you with four chambers” : “Every one of my cells”

Suffocating: She: from the cell of safe keeping: the bowels of your hell

You feed her simple syrup from a dropper: a recipe of sweet compliance: anemic droplet-by-droplet: pray it travels her venomous veins: pray it malnourish her feral heart: “My docile pet” : “My pretty little arm candy”

You cut her one dimensional paper dresses: in a textile of ransom note letters

You speak of unity: the breaking of her: snapping her from your very chest: cradling her in the palms of your hands: pride in her transitional malgrowth

All the while: she yearns to die: plotting to secure a soft noose: hanging from that very rib of pride: swaying in that empty cavern: a voiceless echo: a metronome of No

I feel this tale web upon my palms: I sweep the prophecy clean

To the wild daughters of my womb: I speak: repeat after me

Never am I small: I’m goddess size: My voice is a tempest: I am free

I: a universe: of wicked math

I: a beast: of an unyielding ferocity  

I: a dark secret: a breathing folklore

In his company: the Devil: Himself: Avoids: Me

E.A. O'Connell