Displayed upon their bed of wanting

she holds herself in secret despair

Afraid of what may come

if she acts in contrary

To the picture they wish to possess

 

Eyes gouged

Legs spread

Femininity open for derision

Her body slowly emaciating

Her mind in deep recess

While men of every reverence

play trumpets in her name

 

They swallow their tongues

Dripping with a pseudo lust and love

Tell her she’s the one at fault

For making them degrade their gods

 

Give her eyes again, they caw.

Not so she may observe

But so she might bear witness

and learn how she will best

Serve their wanton wishes

​

B.M. Stower