May 11, 2015 (3:24 AM)

1 min read


By: Karen Kae

I tremble
before each man
who stops by
with the sight
of the façade
of my limbs
and legs.

They seem so undoubted
to move
and unfold
and hold
the sheets of my being.

They seem so eager
to indulge
and give in
their hands
yearning to be in my pocket,
wanting more of getting deeper.

I tremble
before each trade,
of each moment
where I am
the merchant and the peasant
selling my own flesh.

End the silence of the gagged!

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