Forced
there are ancient texts that state
that childbirth
is the punishment women get
for Eve’s original sin–
and alas, misogyny holds consistent.
we have one moment of
supposed autonomy
and by the whims of power
we can be forced into maternity
by men in suits.
people perceived as women
have long been told
that what they want for themselves
is of miniscule importance–
society will decide
what will be the female fate.
you will do what men say
and give them what they want,
repopulating the earth
whether that was your desire
or not.
what fate for those of us
born with this anatomy–
we are sex objects
and then incubator,
prescribed services to mankind
we are conditioned to think of
as our second nature.
put us in huts
for a week of the month,
subjugate us for our biology
and then use it
for your own means.
you want our stomachs to swell
to incapacitate us,
we cannot hold office
or god forbid,
raise our delicate flower voices
to the men in charge.
patriarchy knows what it’s doing,
and it will indignantly
subdue any power it finds bubbling
within our bodies.
and in this fate you subject to us,
we have to hold our fists
in the air
and proclaim
that just because you are born
with a uterus,
it does not mean
you want to be a parent.
and this curse
of violence on independent choice
will shift
tectonic plates,
eventually swallowing
this hierarchical evil
whole.
Insect
By Isis Zystrid
what are we living for?
what sole insect queen denounces
our right for a life of comfort
and plenty
as we toil
as her worker bees?
what purpose
does our life labor serve
to our own selves
if we are drained
from the bone
with work
for mere survival,
–the only other choice
being simply destitution?
when the pennies are
so bent and unpolished,
and so few to
barely fill
holes in fabric,
what life for ourselves
are we given?
what grudging labor
that we strain muscle
and sinew
till a days hopelessly
stretched end–
provide for our own lives?
what do these spine pains
gain us
as opposed to a threat
of “do this
or basic sustenance
will be stricken
from your mouth.”
who decides
for us to hold nothing
but bare bones survival?
who speaks in front of
those chosen for lives
of selfless,
corrosive servitude
and casts this fate upon us.
Scales
By Isis Zystrid
small chatter
leads to deeper pockets
of existence,
learning my profession
the MBA inquires of me:
“don’t you feel society
should teach
people to fish instead of
just giving them a fish?”
to be asked such a question
leaves me stunned,
something my badly stunted
bullet proof vest
is able
to guard me against.
i open my knowledge
dispensing factory
to fill the crevices
of the world
he has deliberaely
not been shown.
“well i suppose,
if the fish were not all
syphoned to the top
into the so few hands
burgeoning already
with abundance,
we could ask
why they do not
help themselves.
i suppose,
if there were enough jobs
available to serve as fish nets,
we could dismiss destitute
citizens as idle.
i suppose,
just supposing,
that if all schools were funded
on a level playing field
and every person
was embraced to fulfill
their potential,
then we could look
at their many
empty mason jars
and scoff.
if we could presume
that every person
were given the platform
to rise from the river
of degenerate status,
then perhaps we could question why
they do not master the skills
of fish rearing.
and with all suppositions
aside
one could say,
that it is as though
the melliflouous water
of opportunity
is gated off
to a certain amount
of potential fishermen
at all times.”