Daggers

Women are like daggers wrapped in silk,

practiced in preserving their manicured masks

from tearing under the shadow of men

who savor the strength they have over us,

smiling as we pinch our shoulders, like cinching wings,

making ourselves look smaller,

dissociating as they spout lie after lie,

so that we do not spoil when we we strike,

making a new mouth out of their throats,

pursed in red,

a kiss

at the end of the night.

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