6/30 (My first Pantoum, what say sumptin!)

Poseiden

When the thunder claps in her chest
She will not break from the sky
Your voice is not cobweb enough to bind her ankles
Her arms squeezing freedom like a limp balloon

She will not break from the sky
The clouds are a mural of men she never needed
Her arms squeezing freedom like a limp balloon
The sound of chains groaning under her heavy

The clouds are a mural of men she never needed
Painted with a handgun, they were always hungry
The sound of chains groaning under her heavy
They break so easily, as if they were made of thawing lakes

Painted with a handgun, they were always hungry
Their stomachs lust for her obedience
They break so easily, as if they were made of thawing lakes
Drowning in her hair, a comb of collapsed lungs

Their stomachs lust for her obedience
Grown fat on submission and scissor fearing tongues
Drowning in her hair, a comb of collapsed lungs
Each plastic arm, flailing away in the monsoon of her scalp

Grown fat on submission and scissor fearing tongues
Her mouth is an ocean learning the rhythm of intrusion
Each plastic arm, flailing away in the monsoon of her scalp
Tell them, they were not made to swallow her depths

Her mouth is an ocean learning the rhythm of intrusion
The trespassers washing up on the embryonic shore of her palms
Tell them, they were not made to swallow her depths
Lungs collapsed under their hero complexes

Even of eight legs and venom, there is little solace in your volume
Your voice not cobweb enough to bind her ankles
You will pray a weaker lightning has struck you previous
When the thunder claps in her chest