The Martyr, the Moon and the Nameless Rose

A Prayer to Taylor Swift on Independence Weekend 2015

Smile upon me son of woman. 
You are a man to me. 
Mind not the needs of the deep 
To eschew from the heart 
Hardness needed to hold up its kindest chambers. 
If you listen to your blood orrate, 
You will hear the spaces between cells 
Punctuate the equilibrium of drumming drones, 
War on women raged 
By spineless mutants who will be the new men, 
Stupor driven punch drunk abusers of powerful dreams 
That what regularly bleeds must be wounded, and 
That all wombs are wounds.

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