You are here in the womb of Earth.
Inside the woman’s water felt inadequate
for you were crafted with beliefs of men.
Whoever carried you for nine months,
was a temple you can spurn as you wished.
Here you were sent to resurrect. To redeem.
Yet, you demanded to be a pretty flower.
You! Once a man of good looks to a plant?
And how many women came to gaze at you?
Did you offer yourself to be plucked as they did?
No, you wished to stay afloat the river of life,
admiring your image as if death was a myth.
Tell me, how does it feel to be pretty and lifeless?
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