“Not All Men”

Another feminine fatality,
for the cannon fodder culture.

Little girls are bleeding out,
and the men circle like vultures.

Ballistics make statistics,
in three bedroom dungeons of despair.

You can sometimes hear her screaming,
When they knock there’s no one there.

Melancholy mothers,
forced to hide their pain from shame.

Others snatched off darkened streets,
and their hem-line is to blame.

Curated like commodities,
and sold to corporations.

Coerced to lose autonomy,
and to paint their black-eyed faces.

Someone finds the strength to speak,
and to ask for it to end.

Then some dick has got the balls

To say excuse me:

“Not all men”