I’m tired of straining
The pulp pain from my art
For the virtue of palatability
I’m tired of men
Defining virtue and true femininity
A heretical guide to a world unknown
I’m tired of men
Avaricious soul sucking beasts
How can a woman not represent Christ
As a priest
When I see a cross in every matriarch I’ve known
Bleeding for our sins
There is a doe in the forest
Frail and gasping
She begs for mercy
But it’s autumn
She begs for mercy
But it’s spring















