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Wicked Men (prose)
We sat in groups talking about the wicked men,
With coffee cups and ashtrays strewn on the table in front of us. We talked about the men who loved us, the men who left us, and the men who hurt us.
The men who used our bodies as batteries to plug into to get the electric shocks to their egos,The men who never called us again. The men who spoke of futures with such conviction we were left stumped at the sound of tones on a voicemail.
About the tall men, who convienently looked down upon us.
Or the short men who revoked our right to wear high heels.
About the hateful men, who took what they wanted , no permission granted.
A few of us wern't ready, but the majority usually laughed and laughed. A few of us still slighted, but the majority understood that these men made us -strong, they made us beasts.
Silly boys, we are not victims, we rise in the dirt in which you try to bury us- not as sweet delicate flowers, but as large sturdy trees that tower above you. With thick able trunks and roots so deep that you could never knock us down again. With branches that curl as if to whisper: ' try me' and leaves that blow gently in the wind like batting eyelashes.
"Cheers", we raise our cups and clink them together loudly, here's to the wicked men left under nourished in the shade of our glorious fucking growth.
#strong
With coffee cups and ashtrays strewn on the table in front of us. We talked about the men who loved us, the men who left us, and the men who hurt us.
The men who used our bodies as batteries to plug into to get the electric shocks to their egos,The men who never called us again. The men who spoke of futures with such conviction we were left stumped at the sound of tones on a voicemail.
About the tall men, who convienently looked down upon us.
Or the short men who revoked our right to wear high heels.
About the hateful men, who took what they wanted , no permission granted.
A few of us wern't ready, but the majority usually laughed and laughed. A few of us still slighted, but the majority understood that these men made us -strong, they made us beasts.
Silly boys, we are not victims, we rise in the dirt in which you try to bury us- not as sweet delicate flowers, but as large sturdy trees that tower above you. With thick able trunks and roots so deep that you could never knock us down again. With branches that curl as if to whisper: ' try me' and leaves that blow gently in the wind like batting eyelashes.
"Cheers", we raise our cups and clink them together loudly, here's to the wicked men left under nourished in the shade of our glorious fucking growth.
#strong
