run while you can

One male for matriarchy.

Father delivers his version of history. Seattle, WA. Summer 2009.

In pleasure, perhaps, my parents procreated. I am a product.

My father gave me half of himself. An acid-washed gene jacket.

My mother, somewhat similarly, contributed herself. Stop.

For the following nine months, I stole from this woman.

Bits of her food, beverage, energy, health– lots and lots.

I proceeded to cause her tremendous pain; she didn’t cry.

I definitely did. Then, the task of nomenclature. I am___.

Mother couldn’t give me her name. It was already gone.

She first had her father’s name. Then my father’s.

I can only speak for myself. When I was made–

my mother carried the majority of the weight.

Winning bread. Bringing home bacon.

Chief laborers. Women and men.


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