her garden

the body of a woman is no place for a man’s pathetic desires. the lungs of a woman cannot be plagued with the breaths of the incriminating whispers: “no one will believe you.” we are gardens that house beautiful flowers, perhaps even fruits for thought. we need no seeds from weeds to destroy our garden, not all of us find them beautiful at the time when forced entry is bargained. yet when the weeds take over, and the garden tries to reject their roots but can’t, no council looks to punish the man that planted his lusts into the fresh soil that now rots at the nightmares. if her garden couldn’t even belong to her from birth, why should it belong to the weeds who refuse her of her rights?