CURSED POMEGRANATE

may fruit only be gifted to you by the hands of a careful peeler

I was gifted a pomegranate

By whom it does not concern-

but her skin was perfect, she'd hardly been pierced and she hadn't been peeled. 

I pretended to be naive and pleaded for someone to do it for me:

 “oh please show me how you make a pomegranate bleed, please by all means, show me how to make her bleed!”

Being a woman, the hands of a man are all I can ever see. 

For how will your hands cradle her final seeds?

I got bored in the process of watching a man wielding a knife and left my kitchen to grab my Marlboro's and a light- a sad attempt of avoiding a mistaken invite.

When I came back from down the stairs, she sat gutted, bleeding from all her lovely sides

and a man was nowhere in sight. 

His hands stay clean and full of life while my pomegranate lays in a pool of her cries. 

I cursed the unforsaken gift and hallowed it out by the weight of lies. 

Y.M.R