He said, ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed?’
Shakespeare wrote of Jews, but read for I plead:
What am I if not human? If not flesh?
I am soft sensual curves; a fine wine.
Curves meant for touching, curves meant for sipping.
Body, a rich dessert for one to dine.
What am I if not nature? Mother’s friend?
I am the wind, brushing against skin fair.
Nature blows, I release a hard slow breath.
Open legs; a babe screaming for new air.
What am I if not the Earth? Free-fly dirt?
I am drifting, the desert tumbleweed.
Boundaries invaded by foreigners,
The soul; a barren wasteland left to bleed.
What am I if not a black hole? Darkness?
I am a comet, burning in the sky.
I do not match the stars beauty standards.
I fall; and burning through the stars I die.
What am I if not woman? A symbol.
I am a body for lust, rape, control.
I am a breeder and a pretty face.
I am the other sex, the broken soul.
A woman. ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed?’
We will rise, we will shine, we will succeed.
My Pajama Days: First Light Kisses are the best kind of kisses. Here’s to hoping that his kisses made your finger all better!