My Sister Kills Men
knives litter the floor
unfinished whittling, trussed up turkeys, wounds on her knuckles, bruised up knees, quince dress in the closet, red like the blood of future men who will try to sever her from her body, of men who will tell her she doesn’t belong, of men who will spew venom while she tries to forge her own destiny, composing it of moments she is wronged, moments of sinew poking through flesh, bones screeching in her fists, enormous sores seeking breath,
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