Today I spit right in the eye of God
as I ruminate on how to remove my uterus
and still retain
my homosapien right to cum.

Even more than usual, I’m nauseated
by the curse of femininity. A rabbit’s curse, really,
to be treated with kindness in exchange for
soft bodies and glassy, scared eyes
and devoured the moment they turn their back.

The world is so much simpler and deadly when you’re beautiful
and don’t I know it.

I pitch up my voice at the cashier
easy as dislocating a joint and setting it back in place.
Just as painful as responding to “Thank you, ma’am”
with nothing more than
“You’re welcome.”

My partner says that “People do what’s easy to survive.”
Easy,    easy as
reclining back on a bed of nails. A rabbit’s curse, truly,
to be born inevitable prey and aspire to something different.
Not predatory, really
something rabid, rather?
And be put down the moment they announce themselves,
frothing, disoriented, and possibly deranged.

Today I spit straight up at the eye of God
dancing my dress into pentagrams and screaming
“I’m not man nor woman, and I am free from all laws!”

before gravity laughed my spit
back down into
my right
eye.

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