Domestic Violence

A poem I wrote for a little project called “Women in Society”


Crash test dummies are a little innovation
In the auto industry, it is a mechanism

For assuring safety. Like the car is supposed
To batter calling it an accident of sorts.

The car’s steering wheel is where all the power is.
The driver is all about cruise control.

The swiftest way between two points. Like when a palm
Slaps a cheek and holds no claim to its aberrations.

The steering wheel is the man-organ, two little sacs beneath
The pelvis, called the testes. Here a little punch

Called testosterone is released which makes man
A little hornier, a little fat in ego and a lot more intolerant

And the crash test dummy is a life giving creature
The air sacs inside of her breath love out

And she will always be your origin, your fertilizer
And who will one day harvest your crop

Little babies that run around calling her “Grandma”.
Life is not about cruise control, its about first gear.

When you can stop anytime, anywhere, and look
In her eyes and ask for a little forgiveness

A woman, is a like a seashell, the ocean is inside of her.
Gracefully slipping over her own little wave formations.

And that ocean, is not just about the curving coastline.
It is also about the sea salt – the inner beauty

What preserves goodness in a turquoise sphere.
Salt is always a little neutral, a mineral that soaks in

All the unfairness bestowed on a gender. Still she flows
As if she is only meant to be the boat keeper.

And sails get lost all the time to the angry winds.


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