Digging…

My body has become a site of violence/A mine field with deep shafts that go deeper than the depths of my soul/Pathways have been carved out into the pores of my skin and where hair would grow and water would spring, men descend to find diamond rings/They do it in my name and claim to adorn me with the riches they find/ but it’s all a vainglorious game to see who can dig the quickest and emerge the richest./The more they take from me, they believe, the wealthier they become./They could not care less to ask why such precious material is buried so deep underneath my skin./Is it even meant to be extracted?

These are not questions that plague them/Theirs is to wonder who will excavate the biggest morsel of my being to crown the trophy that roosts in the garden awaiting their overdue return/Caring for the next generation that will dig for precious minerals/Breeding the next generation that will use her precious body as a site for incredulous violence/Dig some more and you might strike the one nerve you were not meant to hit/And the earth will gush out a poison so severe that it will consume you/And all those who used their hands to seek out her hidden treasures/They were not made for you to keep/They will no longer allow you to sleep//

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Author: Kat the worder

25, m, b, e

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