The Queen

I’ve got more.

Beneath my skin and between my eyes.

Under my finger nails and across my chest.

At my feet and surging my spine.

I’ve got more.

More that I will hide.

Hide away to torture myself in that little dungeon of my womanhood.

Letting it rot along with me.

Into a black tar inside power.

Cultivated in my exile from Self.

WHen he makes love to me his tar babies will die of my neglect and self-eaten love.

And I’ll put curlers in my hair for no good reason.

For I’ll look pretty in the morning. And someone else will want to fuck me for treasure.

Black gold, I am.


I’ve got more


About heathencomehome

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