[a poem by ~burning woman~ ]
O, Mother, I get so tired at times,
Yes I thought you taught me well,
How to meet them, to please them,
To try to guess the different ways
They expect me to pleasure them.
O, Mother, how they take and take
And how I give and give and…
Nothing. They give me nothing
Back, and I’m so very tired
But now I don’t know what to do.
O, my Child, I’d hoped you’d learn
Without being told, you’re a woman
And now you are food to them:
They see you and they hunger
And they’re always, always hungry.
O, Child, listen to me once again,
And pay attention this time
Before they’ve eaten your body
And nothing’s left but a husk
And a dis-embodied spirit.
O, Child, listen carefully:
They do not know how to give
It’s not in their nature although
Some may think they’re giving
When they offer you a dollar.
It’s up to you Child to feed yourself
And the only food you’ll find
Is inside them as they lay with you
As they come, and before they go:
It’s up to you to feed off them.