m.t. whitington


A force majeure, female catalyst, futurist, polemicist, psychonaut, epistemologist. Ruminating between the lines with a clarion call and extreme unction.  A global writer with southern roots.


a bug

a bug



 

wash your hands

girl, you must have your bath

before sex, before the infant.

now close your eyes and pant!

it is just a bug...

remember

the cutters house smells of spice,
sharp, steely; razor sliced

what was good,

now, who claims you pure?

pricking barber,

his penis... the clitoris

girl pinned down, bones fractured!

stealing female power, her sacred pleasure,

deep cut cutter... organ flesh.

wash your hands,

it is just a bug...

a ritual circumcision and the blood is fresh

cut deep, deeper than the sheath.

speak, daughters of eve,

of the cut, FGM.

eyes, mouth, nostrils, ears, every orifice

who sews it up,

who stamps and seals?

threads of infibulation

wrap a woman in scar tissue!

dog tie clasp, you cut me!

a religious war raptio,

carry out castration,

breast ironing, eve teasing,

foot binding, force feeding,

steal pleasure with sucking pain. -moan

wash your hands,

it is just a bug.

the bug is -gone







 

Lighthouse Avenue to Mercury Fountain

Lighthouse Avenue to Mercury Fountain

Bi-Coastal Confessions From They

Bi-Coastal Confessions From They