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MEN DON’T CRY
If my face is slapped,
I’ll turn the other cheek.
If my name is shamed,
I’ll turn the other cheek.
If my body’s scarred,
I’ll turn the other cheek.
If I cannot compete,
I’ll turn the other cheek;
but I shall not,
will not and cannot
let one tear flow
for men don’t cry
except inside.
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HIS HANDS
His hands
want to rule me.
His hands
want to close my 1001 eyes.
His hands
deliver his seeds
to the first womb,
my mind.
His hands
closed my mouth
when his kisses
no longer drip, drip, drip.
His hands
swallow my songs
as his hands
strangled this tree.
His hands
write the rules
where I sit at the crossroad
of mental prison systems.
His hands
want to rule me
as they seek to take
my breath away.
His hands
are not the hands
from the eternal
that will lift me beyond slavery
of strangers’ hands.
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