By Kristina Hoppler

For those of us who live at the center of a man’s world,
words written for us
expressing their desires,
thrown about like a boat in an ocean storm.
If such words could sculpt
they would create erotic pictures,
unrecognizable when faced with realism.

To be a woman in a man’s world,
if breasts could bounce
like that of a man’s eye.
When will the ink from a woman’s hand
be given such courtesy?
Words that roll from her lips
pierce the man like a dagger.
Having tasted the blade,
does it reminisce
of the flowers they so desperately wish to pluck?
You would reject the mirror
with images such as theirs.

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