My face has mountains
and Valleys, lush, life
Seeds latent, waiting for rain.
You come to me, speaking
in languages that I don’t understand
until I feel them.
But those are just stories I hear.
First I must be silent inside.
We must slice, from my temple down.
On either side.
Take off my face completely.
My nose, you see…
May lead me, to like, to want, to anticipate and salivate
at the prospect of the pleasure of dancing.
This we don’t want.
My lips may form a channel of moisture that can contribute
to a miniature lake of
We don’t want that either.
The mouth; the greatest offender.
It may consent to be fed, to be watered.
Alow an intruder to climb in and till it.
Should I allow it?
That, we really don’t want.
I am a child, yes.
But what goes on in my mind, may blind me from morals
that should be enshrined
so cut out my mouth,
lest I feel inclined,
to speak freely,
words that are babies.
You see, my words,
Either fully formed, or merely conceptual.
So cut out my mouth,
as regular childbirth is not enough of a hurdle.
Though, I’ve heard, the scar tissue may kill my first-born.
Or if I’m lucky, ensure that my colon is torn.
Cut out my mouth,
so my father can feel warm,
in the knowledge that he sired a true woman.
Remove my face from me
I should not see, I should not breathe.
Remove my face completely.
I should never have the chance to speak freely.
I have no value, as God made me, functionally,
responsive with flexibility.
To let mother nature have her way with my body,
endless shame to my family.
So Please. Cut out my face.
So I can be…