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.