Woman is a Root-Molly M. Ryan

A poem of mine is published over on hereticslovers.madmen.com if you’d like to take a gander! Give them a follow if you want to see more up and coming writers tackle poetry!

Heretics, Lovers, and Madmen

Touch does not sit in the veins of a petal,

Does not wilt when the bloom of spring

Withers away. It can’t be pruned,

It does not decompose with the dead and discarded

To become a new whole.

Woman is not a flower. A flower

Is only beautiful for the season. Groomed,

Clipped, arranged, until the water

Turns brown and the pollen turns

Sickly and it’s

Hidden amongst the garbage, ugly.

Woman is a root. What grows from her

May pass but she is there, in the dirt,

Taking hold of the earth, taking hold

Of life to say, “What may pass

Can be regrown.” Touch

Is there, in the roots.

The boy who kissed me

In the courtyard to show

How easy it was

To break me.

The man who pushed me

To the ground outside my bedroom door,

His moon eyes black and sizzling

Like an empty frying…

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