motherly love

Motherly love,
What with brief relief from that which you might have not understood.
Though We may prostitute ourselves,
With the hope that in the end, It will not all mean a thing…

Give freedom,
A name fit for that wild girl child without a wish to be won,
Yet feed on their passion to will,
And kill us all off,
With the hows of how they became beautiful when ‘The Man’ finally gave them back to our world,
Armed to the tooth, with Molotov cocktails, and the isms of femininity,
To burn their woman down to that crisp of toasty brown,
Back to the filth out of which they were formed,
With clenched fists, and smiling teeth,
Before they were all declared found.