To Be A Woman

I learned it young,
The wicked ways of men.
But I suppose I’ll rehash it,
As I do now and again.

It started early,
As far back as I can go.
I was just eight,
When my head met a window.

To be a woman,
Is to be a scar.
We don’t ask,
But still we spar.

As I grew into my body,
I became soft skin and curves.
My father took me liberally,
And the preacher took no reserve.

Years later,
I really thought he loved me,
But he showed no reaction,
When his brother touched me.

But yes,
It is on me for cheating.
I guess that’s what they call it,
When you’re raped repeatedly.

He even took photos,
Snapshots when I was sleeping.
But I must’ve asked for it,
So it’s my fault,
Naturally.

And then the next,
Oh he kept it cool.
He had honed his craft,
And colored me the fool.

He left me with bruises,
They colored my neck and wrists.
But he favored my abdomen,
As the place to meet his fists.

It’s funny,
How when you try to tell it,
You see their eyes glaze over,
And they think us dramatic.

To be a woman,
Well that’s just transactional.
You are what you can give him,
While he gets to be a cannibal.

Just when I thought myself a veteran,
The last one threw me a twist.
It was just sex,
But still,
He couldn’t resist.

“We’d be so good together.”
He had said one time.
And that’s when I knew,
I wouldn’t make it out alive.

You see,
Your body just isn’t enough.
They want you to be obsessed,
And they want you to be in love.

It’s heroin for the ego,
When they get to pull the plug.

At my best,
I am a temptress.
At my worst,
I am a mantis.

But I’m okay with that,
These days,
I do want them beheaded.

You see,
You’ve got to eat them whole,
Before you become a victim.