the world is my grave

my body will never be used

for what the male gods have the female insides predestined for,

so I leave behind my DNA wherever I go,

a hair here, a bit of peeled skin there,

I pluck pieces of myself, they continue to represent me,

even though with the fall to the ground they turn into another speck of dirt,

these tiny seeds I plant into the pavement, into

the running water of a shower head, into the soil

when I pick a mushroom with rough hands, in hope, that

there would be remnants of my existence,

that I would become a being of worth,

that as spring comes, something new would grow out of them,

I’m never having a child,

never loving a man,

thank god I don’t believe in god,

but what about you fate, what can I expect from you