rvwxn
a caduceus, interwoven snakes
on a staff resembling a uterus,
center of birth and pillowroom
with walls of decadent drapery
red and waiting to be ripped,
waiting for the inevitable
tear or stretch
or stitch.
fuck the majority
just, fuck 'em
when my dad rants about the unfairness of trans and non binary athletes competing within the "common biology" of cis athletes and winning, about how testosterone is always a competitive drug and how women are just weaker than men - because cis people and strong men are the majority
fuck 'em
where, exactly, does it sit?
the kind of cleanliness that runs over your shoulders, down your hips,
and who decided, exactly,
why it breaks when you touch it? why it
stings
when you kiss it?