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 MEN DON’T CRY If my face is slapped, I’ll turn the other cheek. If my name is shamed, If my body’s scarred, If I cannot compete, but I shall not, except inside. |
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. |