Ruins

My body was meant to be more than a disaster. 

Men named it a blessed temple, 

barged in and made it but dust. 

They signed there names on the walls 

and took it 

as theirs. 

They looked to the greenery, the shrubs, the willow trees, 

the natural, floral decoration that sprouts from my skin and force a trim. 

They sneered at the holy scarlett river that flows within my walls and use it 

justifying my dismissal, 

my dehumanization. 

My body was meant to be treated as a palace, 

a sacred home for those who enter. 

But now all that remains 

are waterfall tears 

and ruins.