The Dying Art of Human

Black ocean

Bags wrapped around ankles

And men were stripped of vestige

A hollow empty victory

To be celebrated

Only safe around wandering wombs

And tombs of hope that were lost

In a dark online age

No time to hold you in my arms

My baby

As you will be taken from me

And there’s nothing I can do

But adopt the masculine

Fascination with death

Though women used

To just have to

Get along with it.

My freedom is given to me with scorn

And daggers in the womb

Whilst we remember to bring everything

That someone else forgot.

Pure love still exists there

Buried beneath the oceans between us

When we stop playing roles

And we learn to trust

Heart beating beneath thin skin

Lying tender underneath

Thickened hides that formed layers

As a buffer to the chaos that fear will

Force us to embrace.

I love you more and more everyday,

And the less I think you’re going away

I know

Only makes me less prepared for bigger things

The happening

The what will happen when we finally give in

To the true dying art of what it is to be human.