She is broken in a
place the world will never see
You can hardly notice
that she walks a bit differently
Zipped slits and buttoned lips fabricate a
smooth silhouette
When her life is as
torn as triggered land mines
I bet she never
imagined she’d be used for Psychological Warfare
Cuz Vaginas are no
place for war tactics
And since when did
battlegrounds become synonymous with mattresses
I guess her womb was
an enemy combatant
Because that’s where
they pointed their guns
M16’s ripping the
hymen of a girl age16
Her labia’s laden
with defending corrupt regimes
As Death Angels enter
her Ankh with assassination between the callouses of their hands
We marvel the
president-veterans and elect them to the highest office of this country
And ignore the woman
of foreign countries whose genitals have been mutilated by boys manipulated
into machines of men called soldier
Where masculinity is
a thing to be proven, a woman’s pride a thing to be stolen and placed on chains
next to the space dog tags hang
Penetration proves
your ID valid
Your pallid must
thirst to ravage the matron antagonist
Her screams are the
reward for Conquering
Trade her innocence
for some semblance of democracy
Either way she’s
fucked
You’ve stolen the
wealth of her womb and the resources of the mother continent
She lays barren on
pillaged surface swindled of its worth
They ruined her life
as a regiment because that’s what boot camp taught them
Camaraderie in every
cataclysmic entry
But soldier, her
posterior isn’t as rough as gun butts
Her lilly didn’t
asked to be fisted or broomed deep
She can never sweep
these memories under the rug or from the forefront of her mind
Like Tribunals do….
Redefine your war
crimes! She was not concubine nor collateral, but a targeted victims who hurts
worse than dead assailants
Cuz she walks around
with mortality hanging from their cervix
Bereavement scars
along her breast
Yet she lived out an
unachieved death sentence
A genocide with no
body toll except the children never to be born...
Who consoles the
woman whose clitoris is now in a trophy case
I wonder how many
purple hearts are covered with the blood of broken hearts
Woman, the
unidentified casualties of war, forced to walk around in their brokenness as
soldiers take parts of them for keepsakes
How do you run
refugee; when the occupied territory is your body?
Bruised in the name
of military expansion and egos
War stories cryptic
like codes
Or stories Don’t ask
and nobody knows
But she is broken in
a place where the world will never see
Because patriarchy dominates
femininity.
