Sta.sh
An army of empty wombs,
Bearing nothing but an entrance,
And shaking bones,
That crack like campfire,
And a perfumey scent that lacks true odor,
But gives off a certain sweetness,
They guard themselves with a brisk pace,
Muscles tense and eyes all shifty scared,
Hold their keys like weapons,
All the necessary precautions trained into them since birth,
So that should this soldier fall,
She shall gain no purple heart,
Because hearts only go out to her once she's dead and in the dirt,
Empty womb soldier will have made the ultimate sacrifice for her country,
So fleshy bodies can look up from cornbread dinners,
Reflected glassy eyed in their big old flat or ray-blue or what-do-you-call-it t.v.s,
And say, "Oh that poor, poor thing,"
Fork in mouth,
Belly full of food instead of baby
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so cruel yet so true.
your writing is amazing, the way you described everything really
delivered the right feelings in the best way possible!