But not I
To me, this is insurgency
I used to dream of being inside the womb. Fetal universe, black holes and
emptiness. Orbiting the massive planet of my mother’s booming heart.
Tiny yolk body, tethered like an astronaut, adrift in the tranquil spume of
desolate bliss. Tiny fingers inching from chubby stems, reaching for that great
thumping whoosh of blood and power that wobbles like a snarling god above me.
My fibrous head, translucent as a bell jar, would search with great staring
eyes deep into the godless dark for a light, for a sign, for anything other
than indifference. But the universe would never oblige
Look upon me: a daughter of a child and a monster
Frozen without cold, feeling nothing, unsure, uninspired, veins full of air,
soul fading into the umbra
Who are they to say what is moral when they are broken?
Who are they to say anything about us?
All this, all this
And I want to sledgehammer
And leave nothing but dust
To dust
To dust
To dust
Strangled by a Bible Belt
Strangled by a Bible Belt
Strangled by a Bible Belt
Strangled by a Bible Belt
Strangled by a Bible Belt
Strangled by a Bible Belt