A supermoon, sun of the night, isn’t always a sure thing. There is no safe trip 
Going back
Going limp
Going slack
With the weight of your simple message
that I am just a crack
In that veneer of faith wallpapered over the
faith you lack
There aren’t enough daydreams to buoy this
There aren’t enough churches to bury this
There aren’t enough lies to stack
While me and my body are lost to
echoes of the last frontal attack;
While me and my sisters are broken in half
While me and my daughters are soaked in the black of coat hanger deaths and still born baths

And if you think
We’re going back
To those days
When the world felt like it was on track
because you were born with a cock and a sack
and you could keep your bitch on a leash in the back
When we bred your heirs with a smile and a knack
For obedient care,
With a stepford stare under a pink pretty wrap
When we held our tongues and bent like sap
When we baked you a pie
with your heel on our backs

But you forget
The history on which we are strapped
We’ve been here before, our veins pulse a map
of how to cut down that Gordian trap
Your jails cannot hold us,
your shame cannot bind us
Those dark days of cowering are way,
way behind us

We stand defiant while under attack
Hand on the holster of knowledge we’ve stacked
RBG in our blood like a pistol we’ve packed
Etched on our bones, sewn under our skin
so small you can’t see it, so deep you can’t get in
Too widespread to conquer, too wild to hijack
The ghost of Goldman humming the soundtrack
to the battle you built on the falsehood of sin
A war against women is a war you can’t win.

We are the daughters of Friedan and Lorde
We’ll slip like water on the edge of a sword
Every drop mounting until there’s a horde
A new sky opens to a mighty downpour
You can’t kidnap a river and hold it for ransom
You can’t make a hostage of primordial sea
You thought you could hobble us,
but you brought down a flood
You can’t chain a cunt
She will gnaw her way free