You say my eggs are fried? That's exactly how my husband likes them on the kitchen counter before work: slippery, licked, dead and gone. Photo by Megha Mangal on Pexels.com
Breakfast
They Never Told Me I’d Be Screwed
When I was a child, they never told me I had a uterus and my eggs were more valuable than I. They never told me my penis’d peers were the ones who could be whatever. I wanted to live /free/ my mind. They never told me the organ/ization I never asked for would follow me…
Saralyn Caine Poetry 