Kindling

There is no place
in this world for 
my empathy. 
There is no place
for my brilliant
mind or open
heart. 

My birthright has 
been seared on
an open flame. 
I’ve scalded my
heels trying to
get through the
religious brimstone.  

It’s true that
Earth has never
been habitable
for a woman.

I will never call
this hell my home,
but I suppose I could
still make a bed
out of the
kindling.

BIATA, ‘I won’t share it with you.’

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