feedback me? No particular format...? The part that says they're under Earth's crust is because this was ORIGINALLY supposed to be about a story I wrote about a (literally) underground community of gender-blurring young people. So ignore that line. This is my FIRST attempt at poetry ever! Bare with me.
---
Female with mustaches
Men who give birth
I'll watch them dance and light up under Earth's
Crust and with all their hallowy, lonely mindsets
I'll figure a plan to free them from their sex
But I can't reason with fate
Or God's sick sense of spite
For people who want to be something they might
Have been
Once in another life, lined with semen
Spurting from ovaries
Over again
And the females with mustaches
Fall to their knees
And cry as they swallow
Their wombs, make them hallow
And void of their children
The babies who'd follow
Them through all their surgery
Remove excess flesh!
And cut off the softness of faces and kneecaps and muscles and voices
And everything, everything
Oh God, cut off everything!
Gather ingredients
Start a new life
Make something beautiful
Not frightening but suitable
Nothing removable
Not whispered confessions that are only fair
Not wrapping elastic 'cross fat that swells there
And God sits in certainty, watching us scrape
To make all our bodies indulgent and fake
---
Female with mustaches
Men who give birth
I'll watch them dance and light up under Earth's
Crust and with all their hallowy, lonely mindsets
I'll figure a plan to free them from their sex
But I can't reason with fate
Or God's sick sense of spite
For people who want to be something they might
Have been
Once in another life, lined with semen
Spurting from ovaries
Over again
And the females with mustaches
Fall to their knees
And cry as they swallow
Their wombs, make them hallow
And void of their children
The babies who'd follow
Them through all their surgery
Remove excess flesh!
And cut off the softness of faces and kneecaps and muscles and voices
And everything, everything
Oh God, cut off everything!
Gather ingredients
Start a new life
Make something beautiful
Not frightening but suitable
Nothing removable
Not whispered confessions that are only fair
Not wrapping elastic 'cross fat that swells there
And God sits in certainty, watching us scrape
To make all our bodies indulgent and fake