Flesh

to be sold off piece by piece to the highest bidder.

Or the one with the biggest, most callous hands.

Flesh that is ripped away from my bones and consumed as substance– like a bad vice that can’t be contained.

I am a slab of meat, weighed and packaged–my value determined by how much I bleed, how much I weigh, how satisfying I am.

I am butchered by many. Consumed by those who have long enough hooks to dig deep into my muscles.

My heart is a muscle that is most sought after. For it makes everything juicy and visceral. Livid with emotion and succulent tenderness. Without it I am just dust. But many still enjoy consuming my lifeless ashes.

You speak to me as if I too consume meat. A cannibal among my kind. And sometimes I pretend that the feed you shove down my throat is not my sisters.

Like Fois Gras I am coerced into this state of obesity, eager to be put out of my misery by the rich slicing of your hands.

I am raised from birth to be a rib eye or a tri tip. Perhaps I’ll be skinned for my hide.

I am nothing but the animal you make me. Only here to fill your stomach, clog your arteries and dissapear from history as just another prey feasted upon by predators…

I am woman

and I am the entree…

 

 

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