I hate your fingernails
Hands pointed and angled
Showing off the product of a likely now dead man’s unpaid and torturous labor

This is what you came to earth for
Pomp and circumstance
To be someone else’s
To be property

You know at one time, there was an exchange between parents
For our bodies

Now we buy magazines
Sashes and veils
guest books and centerpieces
gifts for witnesses to our unflinching commitment

I hate your photographer
Exploiting your joy for all of us to see
Manufacturing love in two dimension
That we all wish for

Don’t we?

I feel I’m speaking to most of one gender
I never see men get excited over card stock or something borrowed


Get in line, fillies
Your saddles will be ready in 4-6 weeks

Smile and nod
Watch the others groomed and paraded

show fucking ponies

All that shit that you just dropped
ain’t made of diamonds
and you’re standing in centuries-old acrid stench
with your hairdos and your bouquet

I hate all those party songs
because I danced to the tune
just like all the other fascistas
carbon copied concubines

you can’t ride me any more
and I’m forgetting the words

Tell those men and children in the mine to go home to their families











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