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She Isn't He

Updated on April 4, 2017

She Isn't He

She isn't He

Rest my weary head on a tear stained pillow but the tears are not of my eyes
They are of the angel that cries by my side
she speaks of delicacies, enemies of a past life
dreams of unanswered screams by the moonlight
I'm confused by the hound who makes these sounds
she is intoxicating the mephitis of her perfume despondency
Blood stained effigies of her ego bruised lips
she reveals her mouth it gapes wide open
mind broken because her life soaks up the blueprints of fractured aspirations but the designs stolen
I feel guilty but she tells me to be guilt free
I am not to blame for the societal machine that helped buildme
she quivers...the liqour dreams when the liver sleeps and she can someday differentiate between love and lust nest
and we'll call that a victory
the arrogance of man to assume a role
any hole is a goal
don't allow them to penetrate your pussy before they penetrate your soul
the angels halo is wrapped around her throat
the tears that streak down her cheeks leave her choked
It is not wrong to not be a man but to be a woman who loves herself
Think differently
SHE ISN'T HE

© 2017 Virgil Issa Anderson

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    • Kathleen Cochran profile image

      Kathleen Cochran 5 months ago from Atlanta, Georgia

      Wow.

      Wow.

      Only the addition of punctuation would make this poem better. But even without that reader's helper, this message is powerful.

      Wow and welcome to HubPages.