Issue 7: In Opposition

The Door That Closes Itself

Fiction, Poetry

how is it / that you force-fuck / and call us whores / you tell us we only care / about your size, your wallet / when we’ve bought you flowers / yet there’s only dirt in your palms

how is it
that you force-fuck
and call us whores

you tell us we only care
about your size, your wallet
when we’ve bought you flowers
yet there’s only dirt in your palms

how can women ever be villains
for offering you love that you refused

don’t you know
we could have recreated ourselves
dug holes in the earth and grown more earth
that in our bodies there is enough magic
to render your love unneeded?

that we could rain fire
that we can speak as well as you can
because it’s your mother who stayed home
to teach you to treat others with respect

and instead you look at me like dice
upset I was rolled a way you didn’t like


Edited by Bretty Rawson.
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