NObody’s fucking victim

i am not the victim of the swine

who think they stole

my body’s secrets:

i am in fact

NObody’s fucking victim.

i am the 1 billion women

that are being counted

as we rise, dance & awaken

the earth from centuries of

rotting stench, and the

other 2 billion that nobody’s

talking about

because we are too terrified to talk

struck dumb like tombs

hiding the decay of love, innocence

hope, beauty and our precious

femininity

however we choose to define it

for ourselves.

i am those women who get up

and pee, drink, sweat, laugh, fuck, cry, shit

and apply

a full face of makeup so as to

play out the drama on the streets again

defying the incessant banging

of the constant

threat

that stalks the gutters out there

and rises from sewers all around us.

i am those women who clench their fists

inside boxing gloves

punching the living shit out of

every demon

every nightmare

every shred of shame & terror

that clings to the walls of

our inner selves

while we walk

that beautiful

womanly walk

all 3 billion of us.

i am those 3 billion women that cover this earth

with our blood, sweat, tears, love & persistence

the 3 billion women who will each in her lifetime

perform at least 3 billion miracles

of healing, nurturing and giving

restoring with every act her own

breath

heart

mind

body

spirit

and power.

i am All women:

NObody’s fucking victim.

you hear me?

NObody’s fucking victim.

i am too beautiful for your defilement

too strong to be damaged by you

too large in numbers to be overpowered by you

and my mission is far too important

for you to detain me

any longer.

ruins

when i am spilling the moon

i long for the crimson-bright river of blood

current of continuous surrendering

pain as palpable and sopping wet as

life, breath, organs

the scarlet fire of youth served

as food

for my mysterious, passionate

caged vampire

but time and the body

free every beast

drown every hunger, moisten

every flame: the womanly lips

surface and resurface in the pool

of their beloved blood

sucking its nutrients

spitting life out

moon after moon

for eons until the source

is depleted: dried blood

a cracked brown stain on the inner thigh

the soul now spills

drops of moonlight

glistening nectar of what was once

youth: crystallized dew

at first silently coaxing, caressing

the bud to unfold, then ripening

like afternoon sky ruptured

by torrents, downpours,

steaming geysers

hurricanes, floods and tsunamis

i become

the quiet and terrifying aftermath

of mud and splinters floating

in rivulets of still life wetness

i become

the ruins of

passion

i become

liquid elixir rising

to meet the moon