Glory Hole

The vagina is under a microscope.
It’s being prodded by shallow precepts.
 
The tools are clumsy and stickily sharp.
 
The stakes are life and death.
 
My vagina is not a glory hole
 
It’s not a place to pray.
 
You can come inside if you want to
 
But I must insist that you stay.
 
 
 
It’s not yours to testify against
 
It’s not yours to undermine
 
It can give you a brand new set of laws
 
If you can sacrifice some time.
 
 
This can mean war if you insist on war
 
swinging your pious pens about,  like swords
 
suturing laws with calculated ignorance
 
And baby, those are fighting words.  In our defense
 
So God got it backwards, did he?
In his flawed, omnipotent perfection.
While he gave men the desire to take lives,
He gave women the power to make them.

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