We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.
Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.
I love you, I said.
That’s very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?
i found this poem when i was searching for the anthology project and i really liked the message it conveyed. how a women goes through life with a man who basically tells her to give up her whole life and she gets nothing in return but solid crap. i can't use it for my project, but it really stuck with me.
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